Winter Rose
by Aelin Sardothian
Summary: Clary Morgenstern has been trapped as a slave for years, made prisoner by her own brother and father, forced to do unspeakable things that no teenager should do. Until she meets a certain golden lion, she doesn't believe she can ever be saved. Winter is coming to New York but will it save or raze her? Human AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Alright lovelies. I have another story for you. Don't be mad at me but I couldn't resist making a Clace story. I know my forte is Clonathan stories, and they still are, don't worry, but I couldn't resist making just one, at least one, Clace. I'm still continuing my Clonathan so don't freak. But, I hope you guys like this.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing save the plot. Sadly.**

**WARNING-**

**Rape**

**Sex- definitely non con**

**Dark concepts**

**Not for the light hearted**

**And I sincerely apologize if I offend anyone but I'm not one to write stories about rainbow pooping unicorns. Sorry. Those who do enjoy my stories, hope you like this Clace one even though I know most of my fans are secret Clonathan shippers. But seriously, I know all of you are Clace shippers. Clonthan is just your dirty erotica. Totally fine with that, one myself. Anyway. There's still dirty, twisted stuff in there for our badder selves.**

**Haha. Don't hate me for making it Clace. I'm actually commissioning another Clonathan story too as of now.**

* * *

Clary sat on the bleachers, waiting for her brother to finish football practice because her father made him pick her up from Alicante High School. She didn't understand why her father got her a perfectly good black Suzuki Hayabusa motorbike and didn't let her drive herself to school; making her brother drive her half the year just so she could sit on the bleachers of Idris University to watch 4 hours of her brother's football practice. The fact was lost on her. Then again, her father took pleasure in causing her misery, her brother liked showing off his prize little sister to his friends, as well as showing off his physical ability to her. He and her father liked showing off. That is, when he and her father weren't forcing her into the bedroom or slave work.

She shivered as she brushed her fingers over the concealed bruise on her right cheekbone. Before the ugly memories of last night and all those before could assault her, she turned back to her geometry homework sitting in her lap. Probably the only benefit of having four hours on cold metal bleachers, optionally watching her brother body slam people, was the time she got to herself to complete her school work. Whenever Clary was at home she's usually being abused in one way or another or recovering from her wounds. Sometimes she stayed up through most of the night to get her homework done.

She ached for her mother to be here but would never wish the fate that had descended onto Clary after she died. Six years ago, Jocelyn Morgenstern died, was murdered more like. Shot in the street by one of her father's enemies. Being the District Attorney could have its perks, yes, but Clary's never viewed all the money or luxuries she's gotten over the years as a blessing. She's only viewed it as pitiful compensation for her mother's death.

Her cheek throbbed as she prodded it with her fingers. The beatings weren't ever nonexistent, they were just few and far between before. Valentine had truly loved her mother and she was the only thing that shielded Clary from Valentine's hand and her brother's perverse, incestuous interest in her. Valentine took his grief and anger out on her, blaming her for Jocelyn's death because she had asked her mother to get her another paintbrush when she'd been shot. He's heaped all of Jocelyn's responsibilities onto her, along with anything else that her father deemed unworthy for the attention of Valentine and his golden boy.

Jonathan's always been her father's golden boy; that didn't change when Jocelyn died. He went to this college on his full ride football scholarship, studying to get his law major. Following in daddy's footsteps. She didn't blame her father or her brother for what they did, she felt as guilty as Valentine accused her of being and this was punishment for her want. They're grieving just like her, her father lost the love of his life and her brother lost his most beloved mother.

That still didn't make her fear them any less. After her mother died, Jonathan came forward with his amoral affiliation for her. It still disgusted her that her brother would have this kind of affection toward her but at least he's gentler than Valentine. Valentine used her for the similarity she shared with Jocelyn, using her roughly and painfully then shoving her away in disgust for not being her mother. He leaves her broken and bruised on her bed, alone in her room, hopefully for the rest of the night so she could recover and drag herself out of bed for the next day of abuse.

With Jonathan, she fought, just like she did with Valentine for the first few months but after a while she discovered the futility of trying to stop her brother and father. Now she just lets them beat and abuse her, use her and throw her away to be picked up again in a few days, it caused her less pain that way. Her brother actually makes a point in bringing her to orgasm instead of using her body roughly like Valentine. Jonathan hardly ever leaves bruises from the nights in bed and when he does, it was from gripping her body too harshly.

She thought Jonathan's kindness stemmed from the kindness she'd shown him when they were younger. When Valentine would whip him bloody with his belt. Clary would always find him lying bloody in the family room where he hadn't dared move from. He'd never wanted to upset their mother by telling her her husband beat their first born but Clary wouldn't have it. Eventually, he'd come crawling to her room to seek comfort, only comfort. The first few times she'd let him slip into her bed and snuggled her close as his back ached but as she got older and more capable, she began bandaging the wounds on his back. Maybe it's because she never alienated him from her bed. Maybe he brought her to orgasm because it brought him pleasure to see hers. She's pondered on this many times and she still couldn't figure it out.

Some days she regretted that kindness because that would mean one less man using her body for his own delights. But she would never change the way she treated him in the past if she was given the opportunity. She just didn't have it in her to leave her brother bleeding and in pain on the floor of their living room. If she wasn't kind to him he might have turned out like Valentine and still forced her to be a bed slave to him. This way at least half of the experiences she had, she wasn't completely in pain and it disgusted her that she had a _preference _over which family member screwed her. The one that beat her and used her so painfully she could barely move in the morning or the one who at least gave her some pleasure and wasn't always hitting her. It sickened her that she had to choose the lesser of two evils but this was her life and she's learned to live with it.

She stowed her homework as the practice started to wrap up and some men head off to the locker room while others changed on the field in their rush to get home. Her brother would be one of those. Most likely wanting to get home to screw her or get his time in with her before Valentine used her and he had to wait until she recovered enough to even feel a touch down there. She waited on the bleachers with her bag slung over her shoulder. She grimaced and switched her bag to her other shoulder as it pressed down on the hand shaped bruise beneath her long sleeve shirt and leather biking jacket.

Valentine was especially rough last night, just as he always was the two weeks before and after the anniversary of Jocelyn's murder. It's only one week in. Three more to go. She watched her brother remove his helmet, tousling his cropped white blond hair. She's still amazed at how much he looks like Valentine. Same white blond hair, same black eyes, same muscled build. Though Jonathan is leaner, lither where her father is broad shouldered and built like an ox. A definite negative for her and her petite build. Her brother took off his jersey and unhooked all of his padding, baring his toned abdomen and chest while talking to one of his college buddies, Sebastian.

He threw his padding into his bag and pulled on a loose t-shirt, leaving his practice shorts on. He did one of the elaborate and completely unnecessary guy handshakes with Sebastian before looking up at her and motioning for her to come down from the bleachers. She didn't miss Sebastian's lusty stare out of the corner of her eye as she walked down the benches. If she ever told her brother of Sebastian's attentions to her, he'd skin him alive, friend or no. He's that possessive and the only other man that's been able to touch her or even look at her has been her father, which Jonathan could do nothing over.

She followed him, feeling a little less stressed knowing she'd gotten all her homework done for the day. She trailed behind her brother to his sleek gray Corvette, where it sat in the middle of the almost abandoned parking lot. Being the D.A.'s kids did have its perks with all the income Valentine earned but she preferred her bike to the car. She looked over at her brother and his irate lope. A shot of fear ran through her; he's mad at something and whenever he's mad, it's complete and utter hell for her. Most of the time, when Valentine raves and abuses her, Jonathan curbed some of that anger slightly.

After she's dragged herself back to her room, if Valentine hadn't decided to fuck her that night, Jonathan would usually come in to check on her and sometimes clean up her injuries, depending on how bad they were and if she could reach them. He'd sometimes come in in the morning if Valentine had raped her the night previous to help her up but not all the time. Usually it's just her trying to recover on her own.

Her abuse didn't happen every night. Some days she got reprieves, nights to herself, not that she's allowed to go out. Some days it's only Valentine abusing her, some abusing and using her. Others, Jonathan did, but those rare few days a month she got to herself she relished, even though she used them to get her homework done because even though they weren't forcing her into bed or beating her for the hell of it, she still had to make dinner and clean up the house to Valentine's satisfaction.

Her pass out time on those nights devoid of sex was usually midnight, the ones with maybe one then if she stayed up to do homework or anything else, it's four or five. She had to get up at six for school. Those nights she had to herself either because she had her period or Valentine was working late and Jonathan was off with friends. Sometimes Valentine was stuck at the office and Jonathan wasn't out with friends but didn't make her do anything either. Those days, where Valentine was gone and Jonathan didn't care or they're both gone were her golden days because neither of them ordered her around, she could make dinner for herself, get chores done early, get homework done early and pass out around ten or eleven for a blessed seven or eight hours of sleep.

She used to spend those nights with her best friend Simon but he moved under mysterious circumstances after he found out about Clary's abuse. He'd tried to do something about it but having the abuser be the D.A. typically doesn't work out well for a fifteen year old boy who doesn't have solid evidence and Clary was too scared to testify against her father and brother. She'd tried calling Simon but his number got changed and Valentine changed theirs so she hadn't spoken to him since then. That's one of the reasons why her brother and father didn't allow her any friends, especially guys.

She'd always made sure to cover up any marks on her face with concealer, which Valentine made sure to keep well stocked, threatening her if she didn't keep the bruises concealed. She always wore sweat shirts and loose jeans or sweaters and her biker jacket to keep everything else on her body-bruises, cuts and scars—hidden. She's learned to keep her mouth shut about it all for fear her beatings might become worse or the people who tried to help would get hurt.

Her brother popped the trunk of the Corvette and threw his bag in, slamming the trunk closed. Clary made sure to keep silent and her eyes cast out the window as she climbed into the passenger seat. Jonathan slammed his door closed and revved the engine before peeling out of the parking lot. It didn't take long for the college campus to disappear and turn into the upper class district mansions. Jonathan sped by them all to the one that sat at the end of the street.

The turn of the century mansion was a lavish display of Valentine's wealth that he loved to wallow in and of course, even with his beating of Clary, he always provided her with the best to show off her status. She hated it but didn't regret picking out her sleek black Hayabusa motorcycle. The D.A.'s children it appeared, have to keep up the appearance of snobbery even if Clary didn't haven't a mean bone in her body. The circular garden out front was lush with trees that burst with fall colors and the fountain in the center of the circular driveway still managed to pump water out of its spout despite the cold weather. All gated in with a state of the art security system and the gate opened for the two children of the estate as Jonathan pushed the button on the remote clipped to his visor.

As Jonathan pulled up to the marble steps of the house in the circular drive, Clary was relieved to find the absence of their father's car. Which meant he's stuck at work. Usually if he's not back by now, he wouldn't be coming back until early morning, which meant Clary wouldn't have to see him until tomorrow night. Bless political arguments for holding up her father!

Jonathan stormed out of the car and up the stairs, pulling out his house keys as Clary stepped out of the car. She quietly closed the car door, a little more at ease about her brother's anger seeing as their father wasn't here, and walked up the steps behind her brother as he threw open one of the two oak doors to their mansion. Clary closed the door behind them and locked it as Jonathan stormed off. Clary stood in the entry hall for a moment, waiting for her father's expected shouts to get dinner started or to get him a beer to watch his game but she just climbed the stairs after only hearing Jonathan's angered footsteps on the other side of the house.

Inside her rooms, she pursed her lips as she saw her mussed bed, the white sheets and comforter still awry from last night's beating. Her large, four poster, plantation bed sat against the wall decorated with a waterfall scene in an Amazonian forest. She remembered painting that with her mother, just a few months before she died. She could still see the two of them laughing and stroking paint across her wall and Jonathan would come in and sit on her bed to watch the two of them while they worked. She turned away as she saw the unfinished spot on the mural. They couldn't finish before Jocelyn died, that was why she'd gone out, to get Clary another paintbrush to finish the leaf patterns on the trees.

Setting her bag on the cushy desk chair in front of her desk, beside the window with automatic black out shades that look out on the eastern side of the forested three acres that sit on the outside of New York City, she turned to make her bed, trying to wash away memories of last night. Once that's done, Clary headed back downstairs to the kitchen to start dinner. She might as well make some for her brother too, just in case he bothered with her tonight.

Down in the kitchen, she's content to work in silence as she fried the chicken on the stove and boiled the pasta. She had no clue where her brother disappeared to and was thankful he hadn't shown up to take his anger out on her. She pulled out a saucepan and poured in her white sauce she'd made a few minutes ago. Adding in a few spices she returned to the chicken, flipping it over to brown the other side.

She didn't even bother acknowledging the shout from her brother to get dinner started. She just continued working, knowing her brother wasn't expecting a response from her and by the time he came into the kitchen, she already had dinner on plates and at the table. Jonathan came in and sat across from her, picking up his fork he started to eat.

As Clary ate she noticed how tense and angry he still was. She knew she'll probably get beaten or chastised if she asks, that's why she's learned to just keep her mouth shut around Valentine but Jonathan isn't one for beating her for speaking so she might as well ask then take the punishment if there was one.

"Why are you mad?" Clary asked hesitantly.

Jonathan didn't look up from his plate. "Did I say you could speak?" He snapped. Clary fell silent, waiting on the backhand across her cheek. He continued eating irately until he set his fork down with bang and looked up at her. She startled and froze in place with her fork in the pasta. "Some dick head invalidated my argument and then stole the credit for himself. I mean, my argument was perfectly sound with evidence and alibis but no, he had to come in and sabotage my evidence so it becomes invalid and I can't use it in my case but then I turn around and find him using the exact same evidence and explanations that I was using!"

Clary stayed completely silent and still as Jonathan continued ranting about his placebos case that the college has them working on. Eventually her food got cold and her appetite left the room with the heat as she thinks about what her brother might do to her because of his anger. He might hit her across the cheek or throw her to the ground and kick her in the ribs. No, that's more Valentine's style. Jonathan liked verbal abuse because he knew he could debase any man, woman or child with a few simple words. That's what made him a good lawyer.

Jonathan eventually stopped raving about the man who stole his case and threw his dish in the sink before storming out again. Clary stood and moved to the sink to clean off the dishes and put them in the washer before she went up to her room and closed the door. She hasn't locked it in years because the last time she did it earned her a broken rib. So she left the door unlocked and walked over to her desk.

It's around eight in the evening now and she'd done chores last night, before Valentine had come home because Jonathan hadn't had football practice. So she got all her chores done early, just in time for Valentine's two hour marathon of beatings and rape. Whoopee. She'll probably go to bed in a few minutes but she wanted to sketch for a little while. Pulling up the desk chair, she flipped open her leather bound sketch book, past her portraits and landscapes. She paused on one of her portraits of her mother and father from behind. They were sitting on the hill in the backyard, watching the sunset. Jocelyn had her head leaning against Valentine's shoulder and Valentine leant his cheek on top of her head.

Clary had sat behind them and sketched it out then added colors later. They hadn't known she'd sketched them but she cherishes the picture. It was when they'd all loved each other and it'd been peaceful. Tears sting the backs of her eyes as she stares at the illumination. It was when she'd had her virginity, her freedom, her friends and her dignity. Now she was a slave and a prisoner. She wasn't allowed to go out lest she be punished. Valentine feared she'll actually make friends who could make more accusations against him and her brother. Jonathan was too possessive to let her out of the house when Valentine's at work.

Well, actually she could walk out the front doors right now and no one would notice, it would be the coming home that scared her. So here she sat, every evening, waiting for one of the men to barge in and use her. In the picture it didn't used to be like that, they would all sit down to dinner and laugh around the table. She'd used to sit in between her parents on their bed while Jonathan laid across the foot as they watched T.V. She remembered when Jonathan would pick her up and swing her around the yard as she shrieked with laughter.

She also remembered Jonathan coming in to her room when she was ten, his perfect fourteen year old face marred by a bruise and tears. It was around midnight and Clary had gone to bed early because she had an art show the next day. She rolled over in bed to face her brother standing in the doorway, shaking with pain only she hadn't realized it then.

"What's wrong Jonny?" She'd asked in her prepubescent, girlish voice, calling her brother by his nickname. He'd smiled weakly and crossed the room, brushing away her red curls from her sleepy face.

"Nothing, Clare Bear. I just wanted to come in a say goodnight," he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead. Clary wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a hug. He'd hesitantly hugged her back, moving as though every jolt caused him pain.

"Love you Jonny," Clary had whispered.

"Love you too, little sister," he'd whispered back. He kneeled on the bed. "Do you mind if I sleep in here tonight? I think my bed is made of rocks."

Clary had giggled sleepily and pulled away from him, tugging back the covers. "Of course silly," she said quietly, scooting over so he could slip in between the sheets. Clary had rolled over as her brother settled on his stomach, reaching over to clasp her hand, squeezing almost painfully but Clary hadn't said anything, thinking he was having a nightmare. She didn't know then that he laid on his stomach because his back had been bleeding and raw or was holding her hand in a death grip because the pain was too much or that he asked to sleep in her room because he couldn't make it to his own room.

"Goodnight," he whispered.

"Goodnight," she replied, not knowing that that single word had set off her brother's amoral attraction and had damned her to her current fate. She was only being nice. Every time after that, Jonathan had wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her up against him. Clary had always turned to him and tucked her nose in his shoulder.

She changed her mind about sketching, reliving all the bad memories of the last six years, the bruises and breaks and cuts and rapes. Closing her sketchbook, she put her head in her hands, resting her elbows on the desk. She held back the tears, she didn't need to be crying. Today's supposed to be a good day. She got her homework done, Valentine's stuck at work and Jonathan was angry but off taking his anger out somewhere else. She got her chores done, dinner made and gets four extra hours of sleep to herself.

But she had to ruin it with bitter memories. She choked as she pressed on the bruise branded on her cheekbone. Valentine had backhanded her for screaming as he took her in her own bed. Gripped her shoulder painfully as he drove himself into her. She's surprised she wasn't broken yet but no, her body was determined to keep up its vigor. She stood, pushing her chair away from her desk and striding over to her bathroom to wash away all her makeup and dirt from the day.

After finishing and dressing in a cotton tank top and shorts she stood in front of the mirror to access the wounds she didn't get a chance to yesterday. The whole of her right cheek was black and blue, her shoulders a patch work of bruises. Her hips ached in pain from being repeatedly slammed into. Rotating her left wrist she thought it might be sprained and she had a cut with dried blood across the front of her chest. It's not as bad as he usually is. Most times she couldn't move properly for a solid twenty four hours and she had at least one break or sprain.

She turned away from her mirror and walked back into her bedroom. She jumped as she saw her brother standing illuminated by the autumn moonlight in front of her windows. Her heart sank as she knew the only reason for him to be in here. Well, at least she'd held the fantasy of a free night for just a little while. He's leaning against the wall, looking into the room and more specifically at her with his arms crossed in front of his chest. She didn't say anything as he pushed off from the wall and strode over to her, his body moving with a deadly grace born of vigorous exercise.

Standing directly in front of her, he leaned down and brushed the backs of two fingers over the bruise on her cheek. She jerked her face away, wincing at the contact. She didn't allow her brother to show her sympathy in her wounds when he's usually the cause of a half of them. Jonathan turned her face back up to his and kissed her. She didn't return the kiss, only let her brother manipulate her body as he spun her around and tossed her on her bed.

She laid on her back, staring up at her canopy as she heard her brother strip his clothes. She closed her eyes as she heard the fabric whisper to the ground, wishing she could breeze away from this life or at least blank her mind out enough to not be present but all she ever did during sex with either her brother or father was remember what happened to put her here. Her mother's death, the beatings that followed, the brutal night when her virginity was stolen by her brother. He'd gotten to her first before Valentine figured out she looked so much like Jocelyn he could use her as a visual substitute. Having been deflowered by her brother though only caused Valentine to lash out at her, calling her a slut because she wasn't a virgin.

That's all she could remember as she felt her brother stripping her shorts and panties from her. Prone beneath her brother, she felt him stroke into her, felt him touch her in all the places Valentine didn't bruise, essentially guaranteeing a bruise on the only working parts of her body once her brother got up to pace. He knew where Valentine liked to hold onto her and to strike her and he made an effort not to touch her in those places, hold her in the places that didn't hurt. That's why he's being so slow and gentle right now, because he knew she's hurting but once his hormones and orgasm take over, he's lost to it and all those unmarked places get bruised with the ferocity he drove into her with.

She moaned as her hormones built and her pleasure coalesced, Jonathan making his effort to give her some semblance of pleasure. He's kissing her neck as he stroked but Clary didn't take anything more than the skin deep, biological pleasure brought on by sex. She used to think herself a monster from finding pleasure in sex with her brother but the more biology and sex education classes she'd taken, the more she realized it was only a natural reaction and nothing more, not if you didn't love the man who's penetrating you. In this case she loved him as a brother, she always would, no matter what he did to her but that love has been greatly reduced and would never reach or come near the incestuous desire her brother had toward her.

She cried out as her brother triggered her orgasm. Her body slick with sweat, she laid still beneath him as the pleasure rolled through her and Jonathan continued to slam into her, looking for his release and heightening hers with his movement. Finally, he was pushed over the edge and Clary could relax as he withdrew. She could already feel bruises forming and her hips and pelvis ache painfully as she tried not to shift around.

She might as well just sleep where she was, in only her tank top on top of her sheets but no, her brother had to move her under the covers. Though he did it gently, she had to take great effort in not whimpering or screaming out in pain. Once beneath her sheets, she let herself drift, blocking out the dip of her mattress as her brother crawled in after her, laying a light arm across her stomach. She didn't think Jonathan realized he did it out of habit but ever since that night and the many whippings afterward, even when he's not injured, he slept on his stomach as he did now and she could feel him beside her.

She heard her brother say goodnight and didn't bother responding. The little girl who welcomed her big brother into her bed, who would have said goodnight, died alongside her mother on the streets of New York. She eventually fell asleep to the constant throbbing rhythm of her bruises and aches, despite the presence of her brother sleeping beside her. She's just grateful he didn't do a two hour marathon like Valentine last night and that she at least got a couple hours extra of sleep.

She woke in the middle of the night to the front door slamming. Her heart practically burst from her chest in fear as she realized Valentine's home. She also was crushed by how badly her body hurts and the prospect of how much worse it's going to feel in the morning when she had to get up for school. She could hear him trudging up the stairs as she stared at her ceiling, not having the will to move. She tensed as he got closer to her room.

Almost jumping out of her skin when she felt fingers tracing light circles over her hip, she whimpered. She looked over to see her brother still here, still had his arm draped over her. His eyes were still closed but his breathing told her he's somewhat conscious.

"Don't worry. He won't come in this late," Jonathan murmured drowsily. Knowing Valentine, she wouldn't put it past him to barge in, wake her up in the middle of the night and beat her, rape her then leave her to recover but with her brother here at least she had some reprieve because the men seemed to have a lasting deal where if one's with her, the other didn't disturb in any way, shape or form.

True to Clary's beliefs, her door opened and she didn't dare turn her head, knowing who it was. Her body tensed unbelievably but Jonathan just splayed his hand across her stomach. She held her breath.

"Go away Father. Go get some sleep," Jonathan said, loud enough for the man at the door to hear through his muffled voice against her pillows. She let out her breath as she heard the door close but her stomach sank at the prospect that attempt had set up for tonight.

She soon returned to a fretful sleep, like most sleeps she had when Jonathan had decided to take up temporary residence in her bed. Even in sleep her body knew not to move, lest she aggravate the pain radiating through her muscles and skin. Eventually, the sound of her alarm blaring the morning news woke her again. She opened her eyes and laid there for a few minutes, listening to the forecast and how another shooting took place in downtown last night. She forced herself to move, causing her body to scream out in pain as she turned off the alarm.

She moved to haul herself out of bed to dress and conceal her new bruises and almost cried out as an arm tightened around her waist. Looking over she saw her brother still lying on her bed, still mostly asleep and holding her in bed, his arm pressing against some of the more sensitive and painful parts of her body.

"Don't leave yet," he mumbled.

"Jonathan, I have school," Clary complained, wiggling around a bit so his arm didn't press too harshly against her.

"I'll call you in sick then," he replied, dragging her back over to him.

She pushed his arm away and slipped from the bed. "No," she said. There is no way she's missing a day of school, the only thing that gave her a break from her brother and father. If she stayed here, Jonathan would have at her again, not having classes until noon and after he left, Valentine would start in on her and she didn't think she'd recovered enough, nor would she be within the next three days, to deal with his anger.

"Just because you're a legal adult and can pull me out of school whenever you want doesn't mean you should. I have class and projects due. I need to go," she said, pulling of a pair of loose jeans and a sweater. After concealing her visible bruises she pulled on her biker jacket over the sweater and grabbed her school bag and bike keys, her brother not having practice today.

Jonathan was still lying on her bed and she ignored him as she headed out the door downstairs to her Hayabusa. The only benefit of having to go to school was waking up before her brother and leaving the house after her father. Though today she suspected he's still crashed in his own bed from the all-nighter he pulled. In the kitchen she quickly made herself a piece of toast, stuck it between her teeth and headed out the front door, locking up behind her.

She straddled her motorcycle as she finished her pathetic breakfast and zipped up her leather jacket. She pulled on her black helmet, tucking her red hair up and lowered the tinted visor. It was still mostly dark out due to the changing of the seasons and she turned on her headlight before starting up her bike. Pulling up to the gate, she pressed her controller to open it and peeled out into the almost abandoned New York street.

Her school was about five miles away and she traveled the back roads, loving the silence and peace of it. Due to her own bike she didn't hear the sports car pulling up behind her. She's racing down the street, almost to the entrance of the high school parking lot when a gray Aston Martin zoomed past her, coming close to clipping the side of her bike. She rolled her eyes, mumbling 'jackass' under her breath as she watched the Aston roll into a parking spot near the doors. Clary pulled into one of the motorcycle spots down the row.

She put her kickstand down, turning off her bike. She's always early, always wants to be early so she could get away from her family. She loved the sunrise peeking over the school building. It made her feel like she's the only person in the world. She closed her eyes and breathed in the cold morning air, relishing in the freshness of it that was until she felt a hand clap her shoulder, the bruised one. She jumped, drawing in a breath between her teeth before wrenching away from the hand. She turned, pulling off her helmet and facing the person who'd clapped her on the shoulder.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Clary asked, furious. She hated being touched by her brother and father against her will and she certainly didn't like being touched by anyone else. Especially on one of her bruises or injuries. The man behind her was tall and blond and drop dead gorgeous but she really didn't care about men nor was she interested in a relationship due to her family. But she had to admit, his golden curls framed a perfect face and his build was tall and lean and muscled. He was wearing a tanned leather jacket with nice, designer jeans, meaning he's probably a spoiled rich snob and his arrogant gait all but confirmed it.

Though right now, with Clary glaring at him, he stood shocked and openmouthed. "I-I was, uh," he paused and cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "I was coming over to apologize for almost running you off the road. I didn't see you there."

Clary put her helmet on her bike and swung her leg over, pulling her keys out and slipping them in her pocket. She checked her bag, mumbling, "It's fine" before she took to the sidewalk and walked toward the school. The blond man followed her, slinging his pack over his shoulder and running to catch up with her. She really wished he would just go away, all the other people left her alone and she'd always been content without the attention.

"Hey, I'm new here," the man said beside her and Clary pushed open the door.

"That's a peculiar name," Clary said, still ignoring him. It's still about a half hour before school starts. She's usually the only one here besides teachers and she painted in the art room. She didn't know why this man would be here this early, maybe to get his classes or schedule. She continued walking, ignoring the man and hoping he'd go away.

She heard him laugh but didn't bother looking at him. _Please go away. _"And I was hoping you could show me around. I don't know where half these classes are."

She paused in the doorway and turned to the blond. The look on his face was cute, confused and hopeful. She sighed and held out her hand, hoping the stiffness of her movements wasn't terribly noticeable. "Let me see your schedule," she said quietly.

The blond dug in his bag before handing her a slip of paper. She looked over it, the black ink slightly fuzzy as her headache came back from yesterday. After a second it cleared but not before rain splattered down on the paper. She looked up just in time to get drenched in the sudden downpour. The blond laughed and pulled her inside the doors while she wiped away the water from her face, being sure not to press too harshly on her cheek.

"Sorry about that," Clary said, wringing out his schedule. "Um, your first class is with Mr. Starkweather, biology. I have him first class too, so I'll walk you there. C'mon," she said, avoiding his gaze and walking down to Mr. Starkweather's class room.

"I'm Jace by the way. I just moved here from England," he said, keeping close to her side. She slid away, chills running down her spine at the proximity. And not the good kind.

"England? Really? Where's your accent?" Clary asked, walking past Ms. Penhallow's classroom, Jace's third class as well as hers. Looking over his schedule, they had the same classes, all except two.

"Right here," he said with a perfect English accent. "I just didn't want yet another thing making me the odd man out. I'm already new."

Clary stopped in front of Mr. Starkweather's classroom. She knew how he felt but she wouldn't let him know that. She smiled shyly at him. "Yeah, well I'm sure with your looks you'll be fine around here. This school is built on the shallowness of other people."

Clary pushed open the door and found Mr. Starkweather sitting at his desk. He looked up and smiled at Clary. "Good morning Clarissa. What can I help you with?"

"Not me, Mr. Starkweather. You have a new student and I was just showing him around." Clary turned to Jace who's standing behind her. He stepped forward and extended his hand.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Starkweather," Jace said, shaking his hand.

"And you, Mr. …"

"Herondale. Jace Herondale."

Clary hiked her bag up her shoulder, the unbruised one and turned to leave. She wanted to go down to the art department and paint for a little while before school starts. As she reached the door, Mr. Starkweather called after her to come back. Pursing her lips, she let go of the door knob and turned back.

"Yes, Mr. Starkweather?"

"Are you okay? Do you need to go to the nurse?" He asked, stepping around his desk. Clary blanched as she heard the question. How did he know? No one was supposed to know. A flash of Valentine's hand cracking across her face whipped in her mind as she tried to compose herself.

"Yeah. I'm fine," Clary said, brushing her soaking wet hair from her face. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Jace stepped up to her and studied her face. She took a step back, looking up at him incredulously, how dare he invade her personal space. "Because of the bruise on your cheek," he said softly, curiously.

Clary stepped back as the night before last washed through her. She shivered then composed herself. "Yeah, my… brother accidentally opened the door on me. I'm fine really. I'll see you in class," Clary said haltingly, touching her cheek before dashing out of the room and down toward the basement where the art room is. She stopped off in the bathroom first, digging in her bag to find her concealer. The rain had washed away some of it from her cheek but thank god it didn't wash away all of it. She wouldn't have been able to pass off the whole of her right cheek turned black as someone accidentally opening the door on her. Only the portion right along her cheekbone had been revealed and she quickly dried her face and concealed it before slinking back into the hallway.

She stopped at her locker as other kids start flooding into the building. Great, so much for painting. She shrugged off her leather biking jacket and bag, making sure her hair was down around her shoulders to hide the marks going up the back of her neck. She grabbed her books for the next four classes and headed back to Mr. Starkweather's classroom to take her seat. It's about five minutes to the bell when she took her seat in the back by the window.

As usual and to her great relief, no one paid her any attention as they all filed in and took their seats. She's pulling out her biology notebook to write down the homework for tonight when someone took the seat beside her at the two person science table. She looked up to see Jace sitting down and pulling out his own notebook. She avoided his gaze as she scribbled down her homework and the bell rang. Mr. Starkweather stood to begin class on genomes.

"Hey," Jace said under his breath, leaning over toward her. Her throat tightened at his nearness and she leaned away.

"Hi," she said, trying her best to focus on the lesson. He's saying something about genetic defects caused by said genomes.

"I'm kind of lost," he said, gesturing down at his blank notebook.

"We all are," Clary said, excluding herself as lost, before jotting down some notes. "Just take notes then look it up on Google when you get home." She scooted away from him and immersed herself in the lesson. Jace didn't say anything for the rest of the class and when the bell rang he followed her out of the classroom.

She turned around to snap at him to leave her alone but the look on his face stopped her. He's studying her with those molten gold eyes. She didn't realize he had gold eyes. They're so beautiful and stunning, what an odd color. She shook her head.

"You're next class is with Ms. Whitelaw. I have the same thing, I'll walk you there if you want," Clary said hesitantly, her previously defensive voice mousy and shy. She really shouldn't be getting friendly with anyone, not after what happened to Simon when he got too close. She wouldn't let that happen to anyone again.

"I'd love that, thanks. This school really seems like a maze. I'm sure I wouldn't have ever even found the doors if I hadn't almost run you off the road," he said with a laugh. Clary smiled back weakly and gestured for him to follow.

The rest of the day and the other three classes she had with Jace passed quickly and each time the prized empty seat beside her was claimed with Jace's presence, per the teacher's orders. All she wanted was to get away, the longer he was with her, the longer he had to puzzle her out. No one else ever bothered with her nor did she want them to. Her brother's come to pick her up so many times and scared away all the people even remotely interested in talking to her away with their tails between their legs. She didn't mind, anyone who's ever tried to become 'friends' with her aside from Simon had just wanted to be close to the money her father made.

This golden boy, though, didn't leave her side. He shadowed her the entire day and it's setting her on edge. He didn't seem like the type to be shy but he's too intrigued by her to go away. She tried to seem boring or uninterested but he wouldn't branch out, wouldn't talk to anyone other than her and she didn't have the guts to tell him off. The other times she's tried to tell her brother or father off she ended up in her bed for a week. Take that either way. She managed to escape him for lunch, not having a class with him before lunch. She caught a glimpse of him sitting with a group of popular kids, the Lightwoods and their gaggle she thought, she didn't keep up with school gossip, during lunch and slunk off to the hidden lunch pavilion that she'd discovered last year.

She'd always out there no matter the weather, not minding the cold that ices her always hot and throbbing body and the canopy overhead kept her shielded from rain and snow, like it's raining today. The down pour from this morning had persisted, drenching every one of New York's citizens. At the end of the day, after her last class, the only other one devoid of Jace, she headed back to her locker.

Shrugging on her leather jacket and putting the books she needed for homework tonight in her bag, she heaved a sigh, not wanting to go back home. She stuck her hand in her pocket to find her bike keys before she closed her locker and walked out the front doors. She walked past Jace's Aston Martin to her Hayabusa and slung her leg over it, pushing back the kickstand and holding it between her thighs while she pulled on her helmet.

"Hey! Clary!" She closed her eyes as she heard Jace's voice. She flipped up her visor as she looked back to see the drowned golden blond. The rain was still pouring and soaking her jeans as he came up to her bike beside her. "I was wondering if I could come over. I need some help with my classes and the materials. I thought since you were in most of my classes, maybe you could help me."

Clary looked him over, not wanting to give away any of her anxiety. "I-I uh… I don't think my-my father would want me to…" Clary stuttered. _Dammit!_ She knew that she'll get in trouble if she brought a boy over or if she went over to his place but the look on Jace's face was so hopeful, and enthralling… No, she couldn't. Valentine was angry this morning and when she got home she didn't want to give him any other excuse to get angrier at her.

"It doesn't have to be your place if your dad's home. It'll just be over for an hour or two. I could really use the help," Jace said and she's surprised he wasn't complaining about the fact that the rain was soaking his designer jeans and jacket, that his perfect hair was getting ruined. The wet curls lay lank and plastered to his forehead, curling around his eyes. He's actually quite attractive.

She sighed in defeat; she could never turn someone down who asked for help. "I'll tell you what, if you can meet me in the pavilion around back at six tomorrow morning then I'll think about taking you home. Bring your books and a sweater, oh and a flashlight."

"I'm quite cute, you know. I don't think you'll be able to resist taking me home," Jace said, the smallest quirk of his lips lifting it into a smirk.

Clary scoffed and hid her smile at the truth of his statement. He looked like a wet puppy in down pour. "I'll see you tomorrow morning then?" She asked, thrusting out her hand. She could manage slipping away early tomorrow morning. She's sure Valentine was the one who's going to beat her tonight so she'll be alone through the night. She could get up before her father and slip out to school. She didn't need to make breakfast for either of the men because Valentine got breakfast at work and Jonathan didn't bother waking up before noon most days. She'll set her alarm when she got home tonight.

Jace clasped her hand and shook it, a bright grin on his face. "It's a date," he said a little too enthusiastically for her taste. "I'll see you at six tomorrow morning."

Clary released his hand and flipped her visor down as Jace stepped away from her cycle. She started it up and peeled out of the parking lot. Driving through New York traffic, weaving in and out with her cycle, she thought about how much she's going to regret this. If her father or her brother ever found out, she's scared of what they might do to her and to Jace. Her father could conjure up evidence in the blink of an eye to fabricate a case that didn't exist or he can slap a restraining order on Jace so fast that he'd be dizzy for a week.

But she couldn't back out now so she'd keep her mouth shut, take her punishment tonight and sneak out in the morning. She pulled into her driveway, under the car port and out of the rain, shutting off her bike before pulling off her helmet. She walked in through the front doors, noticing that her father's car wasn't in the drive way and neither was her brother's. She bit her lip in fear of how angry her father would be when he came home as she shut the door and dashed up the stairs, dropping her leather jacket, keys and school bag in her room and setting her alarm clock for five thirty before daring to go do her chores.

She walked into her father's bedroom to find it a train wreck. The bed sheets thrown about, his clothes dashed on the floor, beer bottles strewn about the floor. He did this on purpose, making more chores for her to do. She grabbed the laundry basket and picked up his clothes then the trash bin to pick up the bottles. She changed the sheets on his bed and threw his clothes in the wash before going into her brother's room.

It was even more of a crime scene. It was a college frat boy's bedroom. She didn't understand how in three days he could make it this messy. His large bed with its black silk sheets was as messy as her father's. He had pizza boxes and trash thrown about his room. His desk was awash with papers and his computer was still running. His dirty laundry basket in his closet was overflowing and more dirty clothes were thrown on the floor of his closet. He had Gucci bags with folded suits still in them beside his bed.

Used towels laid wet and dirty on the floor, candy wrappers on his desk, coffee cups on the floor beside said desk, alarm still blaring, tissues on the nightstand, bag of marshmallows on the desk and all assorted trash items randomly thrown about. She sighed and grabbed a garbage bag from her cleaning supply bucket she hauled with her so she didn't have to go back and forth to the cleaning closet and set to picking up all the trash. She found a match set from a stripper bar and tucks it in a desk drawer. She ended up filling an entire trash bag before moving on to his laundry, using his basket to stuff the rest of his clothes in.

On her way to the laundry room downstairs, she dumped the trash bag in the can in the garage. She switched Valentine's load and threw Jonathan's in. She set the Gucci suits beside the ironing board before going back up to her brother's room to make his bed. The silk sheets glided easily back up and she pulled the comforter taut. She moved over to his desk and saw all the papers scribbled with notes about his case then English, math, economics, and financial classes. She separated out the papers and put them into his desk organizer based on class. She saved the documents on his computer, closed them and shut it down.

She threw open his drapes and went back down to the laundry room. She folded Valentine's load while Jonathan's was drying and his suits were washing. She carried her father's clothes back up and put them away in the right drawers before she walked into his bathroom. Thankfully, her father usually kept his bathroom pretty clean so she didn't have to do anything but her brother's. She physically shivered at the sight of it. She replaced his towels and wash cloths, wiping down the mirror and cleaning up the toothpaste on the counter before cleaning the toilet and shower.

She went back down to the laundry room and glanced at the clock. It's been about three hours before she got home and Valentine should be home in another hour. Folding Jonathan's laundry, she took it back up while his suits dried and placed his clothes in his drawers. She laid down on his bed for a moment, noticing only now how much her face and ribs and body hurts. Physical activity usually distracted her from it but when she stopped, it rose up tenfold to taunt her. She shifted as she felt a lump she didn't get under her brother's sheets. She pulled herself up and tugged the covers up to find a pair of her lace underwear on his bed. Her stomach turned as she imagined just exactly what her brother was doing with her underwear but left his room and returned them to her own laundry basket.

She noticed Jonathan had made her bed before he left. She smiled at the small act of decency before she brought her own laundry basket down to clean her own clothes. She took her brother's suits out and ironed them, hanging them up in his closet before drying her own clothes and putting them away in her closet. She went back downstairs to see what damage was done to the kitchen.

As soon as she sets foot in the kitchen though, she's knocked to the ground by a slap so hard to her already bruised cheek, it made her head ring. She shakily pushed herself up onto her knees to find Valentine standing menacingly over her.

"Where have you been?" He boomed. He's already changed out of his work suit into a t-shirt and slacks. His white blond hair was cropped shorter than her brother's and his broad shoulders bulged against the dark fabric.

"I was at school then I came home," Clary said quietly, her arms shaking as she tried not to collapse in pain.

Valentine kicked her ribs, sending her onto her back. He towered over her, stepping over her to straddle her hips. "Liar," he shouted, placing a booted foot on her stomach and pressing down until she could barely breathe. "I checked the gate entries. You were a half hour late from school. What were you doing? Whoring yourself to anyone who can pay your price? Tell me!" He pressed harder and she swore she could hear her rib crack.

"Please," Clary sobbed, trying desperately to remove his boot from her stomach. "I swear, I was at school. I swear! Mr. Starkweather wanted to talk to me about the genome project!" Valentine kicked her side again, rolling her onto her side. He fisted his hand in her shirt and dragged her up off the ground only to slap her down again. She landed with a crack on the tile floor and she wiped away the blood from her split lip.

"Get up, slut." He kicked her over onto her back. "Go make dinner, now, and don't be late again," he growled, walking away to the family room and turning on the T.V. She heard the shouts and jeers of the football spectators as she laid there, trying to move to make dinner. The conversation with Jace must have made her late. She could hear the front doors open and close, the faint conversation of her brother and father. She pulled herself from the floor just as her brother walked into the kitchen. She wiped away the blood dribbling down her cheek and used the counter to steady herself before leaning down and pulling out a frying pan.

She slammed it down on the stove top, still wobbly on her legs. She stumbled over to the fridge to pull out the hamburger meat. She had the meat snatched from her hands and set on the counter. She turned slowly, painfully to look at her brother. She didn't say anything, dropping her gaze and trying to step around him. He didn't let her pass, blocking her way to the heating pan.

"What do you need Jonathan?" She asked quietly, leaning on the counter as her ribs throbbed.

"Where were you?" He asked, his voice quieter and so much more menacing than Valentine's.

She closed her eyes as she could hear the possession in his voice and it ripped fear through her. "I already told Father. I was at school, Mr. Starkweather needed to talk to me about the genome project that's due next Monday," she whispered, trying once again to step around her brother. He grabbed her hips and pinned her to the counter, caging her in with his arms. He tilted her chin up to force her to look at her.

"I'm not as stupid as Father, Clarissa. What were you really doing," he said menacingly.

"I told you, talking to Mr.-" He cut her off by slapping her across her cheek. She felt blood well up on her cheek bone. The already brutalized skin, sensitive and easily broken open. She kept her cheek to her brother, her eyes on the floor as she trembled delicately.

"Don't lie to me, little sister. Where were you?" He growled in her ear, gripping her wrist painfully, causing a bruise to form. She cried out softly, trying to wrench her hand away but Jonathan didn't budge.

"I was at school," Clary began and flinched as Jonathan raised his hand again. "Wait," she said, cringing away from him. "I was talking to a new student. They needed help with a school assignment. I was only helping," she said, her voice cracking. "I'm sorry I was late. It won't happen again."

Jonathan relaxed visibly but she still didn't turn her head until he cupped her chin and turned her lips up so he could press a chaste kiss to her lips, licking the blood from her split one.

"Be sure it doesn't," he said before backing away and grabbing the hamburger meat. He opened up the packaging and set it on the cutting board. "I want mine medium rare," he said before sitting down at the kitchen counter and pulling out his own college homework.

Clary set to work on making dinner, quickly cooking the meat and pulling out buns and cheese and condiments. About an hour later around eight, she had her brother's and father's dinner made. She set her brother's down in front of him as he scribbled away at some legal document and took her father's to the family room where he reclined on the couch. She handed him the plate and beer before disappearing back into the kitchen where her own food was.

Her stomach turned as she looked at the sight of food and she started leaving the kitchen to go get her own books to start on her homework but Jonathan grabbed her shirt and pulled her back. "Where are you going?" He asked.

"To get my homework," she said, pulling away and dashing away as soon as he let her go. She's back downstairs against her better judgment in a moment, sitting down next to her brother and spreading out her books. She didn't touch her food as she worked, she almost finished when her books were slammed shut by her brother. She pulled back and looked over at him. Her eyes flicked to the clock, knowing all her hours were ticking away. An hour's passed since she'd finished making dinner.

"What?" She asked quietly as he pulled away her books and papers when she reached for them.

"Eat," he said, pulling her plate of untouched food over to her. She sighed and picked up her burger. Finishing it off she pushed the plate away and reached over for her books, wanting to finish before she got pulled into the bedroom but Jonathan blocked her, pushing her books farther away. She looked up at her brother with a pathetic look. He just grinned at her and tugged her over for a kiss. Her swollen lip throbbed in pain and her brother pulled away.

"I wish I could have you again tonight," he whispered and Clary refrained from gagging. He kissed her again, pulling her off her stool and into his lap. His hands circled the places he'd bruised last night and she gasped. She had to loop her arms around his neck to not fall off his lap but startled.

Valentine called her into the family room. She slipped away from her brother to where her father stood rigid in the family room. She looked to the T.V. and saw that his favorite team lost. Heart in her stomach, she said nothing as Valentine grabbed her by her throat and threw her to the ground. She scrambled back, only to have her ankle stepped on by her father. She cried out as he leaned over, applying more pressure to her ankle.

He went down on his knees, straddling her hips. He ripped open her button down shirt, exposing her blue cotton bra. He slapped her again. "How dare you look so much like her!" He shouted at her and she knew who he's talking about. He's mad at her because she looked like Jocelyn. He ripped her jeans from her, tearing her panties along with them and unzipping his pants. "How dare you look like her when you killed her!"

"Father, please. Don't," she begged weakly but she only got slapped again. She turned away and screamed as he slammed ruthlessly into her. Pain flared around her and engulfed her surroundings. It flowed up her body. It felt like she's being torn apart. She screamed again as he pulled away. She tried to crawl away but her father flipped her over and pinned her face to the cold floor. One hand on the back of her neck, the other pinning a wrist to the floor, he drove into her from behind; she screamed out and his hand tightened around the back of her neck.

"You're a selfish, idiotic, blind, ignorant little girl and I'm ashamed to call you my daughter," he slurred. He must be drunk but she couldn't focus on anything as the pain flooded her senses. She could feel the blood pooling beneath her, flowing down her cheek and from her lip. It's her fault her mother's dead. She sent her out to get a leaf textured paintbrush. She screamed at the pain both in her heart and body. She shouldn't have let her go.

She saw Jocelyn's face, holding her and laughing with her youngest daughter. She heard the gunshot and the laughter turned to screams. Just as she was screaming now. It hurt so much, something's driving into her spine. It burned, she couldn't move. Everything was burning, her limbs exploding in pain. The world blurred as she's flipped over. She couldn't tell how many more times he hit her but she felt the sweat dripping from his body down onto hers. She felt the absence of the scorching heat between her legs and breathed in relief as her body tried to readjust.

Valentine stood and kicked her in the ribs, shouting how she disgusted him before he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. She lay motionless on the floor, her body flaming and screaming in pain. Between her legs was sticky with blood and her face was hot and bloody. Her ribs burned and her throat was raw from screaming. Her shirt hung open, her bra torn from her body to bear the cut on her stomach as the one on her cheek bleeds. Her jeans and panties laid somewhere across the dark room. She glanced over to the clock to see Valentine had been brutalizing her for three hours.

She didn't understand how he could do something like that for that long but he did and as she crawled her way out of the family room to the stairs, she used the banister to haul herself upright and up the stairs. She whimpered and clutched her side as she accidentally hit her hip on the corner of a side table. She stumbled into her room, closing the door. She fell to her knees as pain racked her body. Dragging herself to her bathroom, she pulled herself into the shower, not bothering to remove her shirt, and managed to get it on and close the door.

The ice cold water felt almost euphoric over her burning and aching body. She lay there, not caring it's around midnight. Not caring she had to get up early to meet Jace, just lying there and letting the water soothe her as it poured softly from the waterfall spout in the ceiling. She managed to reach her arms up, her shoulders protesting to run water through her hair. She stretched painfully up toward the bench to get her shampoo and conditioner, letting them fall after they'd slipped from her reach.

She managed to get her hair washed and conditioned but her body wash, the one soap she actually needed, is too far back on the bench to reach. She closed her eyes in frustration as everything hurts and she mustered the energy to move. Flipping over onto her stomach, she tried to raise herself up with her arms but they hurt and throbbed so much she ended up lying on her stomach with her forehead pressed to the soaked tile. She heard her bathroom door open and practically sobbed at the sound of footsteps.

"What?" She asked in a weak, wretched voice. "Was three hours not enough for you?" Her shower door opened and someone stepped in. She rolled over to find one of the two white blonds standing in her shower in his boxers. He circled to the other side and sat in the water, pulling her up into his lap.

"Oh, baby sister," he whispered in her ear as she leaned against him. "Father did a number on you tonight didn't he?" She nodded, not really understanding Jonathan's sporadic mood swings when one second he was slapping her and the other he was helping her wash away the blood in the middle of the night. He grabbed the body wash and a wash cloth and started gently scrubbing her body. She didn't care that he was getting pleasure out of this, just thankful that she was getting clean.

He shut off the shower and picked her up, both his boxers and her shirt soaked through. He set her down on the edge of her tub and grabbed a towel, handing it to her while crouching in front of her. His eyes roamed her body and the various bruises and cuts while she dried herself. He left for a moment to retrieve one of her sleep shirts from her closet and to change his boxers. He peeled the wet shirt from her and let her dry herself before he helped her put the shirt on.

He picked her up gently, kissing her temple as he knelt on the bed with her, leaning against the headboard with her cradled in his lap. "My sweet little baby sister," he murmured, brushing a hand down her arm. She hated how he took care of her like this. It made her feel like she owed him something and it disgusted her. "Do you want me to get the pain meds and bandages?"

Clary just nodded as he laid her down on her thankfully goose down bed to go retrieve the kit she kept in her bathroom. She didn't think she'd ever be able to sleep on anything other than a goose down mattress that molded to her body and cradled it. This was one instant where she was thankful for the money her father provided. She closed her eyes, aware her bottom half was bare, reveling in how good it felt to be lying motionless on something other than the floor. If she laid still now, nothing hurts or throbs. There was a low heat between her legs and a dull throb but other than that, she was fine.

Everything flared up in pain as the bed dipped and her brother laid her out so he could bandage her open wounds, just like she did with him when he'd been whipped. He brushed light fingers over her skin before wrapping bandages over the small cuts and slices on her body. He left the one her cheek alone, leaning down to kiss her soft lips. He licked the small cut on her bottom lip before kissing her deeply again. She sighed against her will at the clean feeling sweeping through her, despite her brother's compromising touch. She always felt like this after a shower and being bandaged. He gave her two pain pills to dry swallow before returning to kissing her.

But she always felt dirty inside, being used by her father, the guilt that crushed her every time her father blamed her aloud for her mother's death. She knew it's her fault and she couldn't stop blaming herself because she had asked for a leaf textured paintbrush. She knew her brother blamed her too, both of them do. Jonathan was just less angry about it because he loved her, in that disgusting, incestuous way.

She didn't even move as Jonathan continued kissing her lips then her nose and forehead. She's lying horizontal on the bed and her brother laid down beside her, tucking an arm behind his head. Still motionless, she stared up at her canopy as her pain slowly ebbed away. Her brother lied in silence next to her, as she did the many nights he'd lain in her bed, in pain.

"Do they still hurt?" Clary whispered.

Her brother turned his head and brushed a curl ever so gently away from her bruised cheek. "Do what still hurt, little sister?"

The dark surrounded the pair of them and the moonlight coming in from the window outlined and highlighted her brother's white blond hair. "Your whip scars," she replied. She had to move her arms to get more comfortable and it sent a spark of pain through her body. She put one hand on her stomach and rested the other beside her face.

He gave her a weak smile that she could barely see. "Yeah, sometimes." He turned away then and Clary just closed her eyes, not wanting to move anymore. She felt her brother trace his fingers down her legs after a few minutes and she assumed he thought she was asleep. He splayed his palm, against her thigh and Clary forced herself not to recoil in disgust. She felt him press a light kiss to her forehead before he got up. She thought he left but he's back, covering her with a blanket, not daring to move her.

"Goodnight," she heard him whisper and that damning night flashed back. That one night where she'd accepted him into her bed because he'd wanted to have some company through the pain. She heard her door close and she choked on a sob.

"Goodnight," she whispered to the darkness before she fell into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, I apologize. It's been crazy these past few weeks. My teachers decided to bombard me with hundred point projects all at once but do not fear, I am getting back to my stories. I actually just read a review on Last Hope, and I laughed. I'm aware I'm being slow, I hate it when stories take weeks to update but I'm trying. And to reassure you, no I'm not turning in favor of Clace, my profile is going to be mainly Clonathan. I honestly don't understand how my Jonathan's Angel turned out to be Clace but either way, I assure you Last Hope is strictly Clonathan, as well as my next new story that I'm only just writing the first chapter. This story though, Winter Rose, will be Clace, so my loyal Clonathan shippers do not have to read this but I just wanted to explore this specific type of plot line. I promise, cross my heart and hope to die that I will update Last Hope this week. PROMISE! Anyway, those of you who do enjoy this particular plot line and where it is headed, here is a new chapter and Clonathan shippers, I will have the new Last Hope chapter posted this week as well as a new, diabolical debauchery filled Clonathan story posted before Halloween. Love all my loyal readers, Clace and Clonathan shippers alike.

* * *

Her alarm clock blares loudly as she peels open her eyes, her body flaring in pain as she moves to turn it off. Still pitch black outside, she turns on her lamp and slowly makes her way to the bathroom. Turning on the light, she sees her cheek even blacker than yesterday, amazingly missing her eye though and the cut running along her cheekbone is scabbed over. She blearily grabs a container of concealer and wipes it over the bruise, noticing the stiffness throughout her body. She grabs a pill from the packaging she keeps in her medicine cabinet along with an array of painkillers because God forbid she should get pregnant from either her brother or father.

Pulling her hair back in a ponytail, she doesn't bother with any other makeup as she stumbles over to her closet and pulls on a button up blouse, a thick sweater, long underwear and jeans. She grabs her keys, slipping them into her pocket, her bag and her jacket. She slowly makes her way downstairs to the kitchen. She doesn't dare turn on a light as she stumbles over and tries to separate her books and papers from her brother's. Eventually she finds all her homework and books, sliding them into her messenger bag before glancing at the clock. She has ten minutes to get to school.

Slinking to the door, making sure her brother and father are both up stairs, she pulls them open and locks them behind her. She breathes out a sigh as the cold air coats her skin, even through the fabric and cools her bruises that still ache and throb. She slowly and stiffly descends the stairs and moves over to the car port. Ever so carefully slinging her leg over her bike she pulls on her helmet, thanking her customizer that provided extra padding for her face. She turns the key in the ignition and pulls down the driveway before opening the gate, turning on her headlight and heading down the street toward the high school about ten minutes away.

Pulling into the parking lot, she turns off her headlight and bike, putting down her kickstand. She sits there for a few minutes, trying to muster up the will to move but the pain spiking through her body holds her immobile for a moment. She bites her lip, white knuckling her grip on her handle bars as she tries to push the pain down. She knows she's going to regret this, her father or brother will find out she's been with a boy. The retribution he'll wreck on Jace will be nothing compared to what they'll do to her.

She nearly falls off her bike as she hears a man's voice behind her and it sends fear down her spine. "Hey! I didn't think you would show up."

Clary turns, brushing away all signs of pain so not to raise suspicion, to see Jace, striding over to her from his Aston Martin parked across the lot. He has his bag slung over his shoulder and she can see him slipping his keys into his pocket. Not having any more time to recover from her pain, she takes off her helmet, setting it on her gas tank before getting off and taking her keys out.

"Neither did I," Clary mutters. "I didn't think you would show either," she says louder as Jace comes up to her. She tries not to wince as he comes over to her, too close for her comfort. He's standing maybe a foot away, within striking distance.

"Well, I'm too stupid to pass up on a chance to get caught up," he says, sliding his hand through his golden hair. The gray sky as prelude to the dawn is weak and casts the boy's gold hair in a weak, shining yellow and Clary can't help but admire how gorgeous the man is. She wonders what his hands feel like because looking down at them, they seem large and tapered and skilled. She winces as memories assault her and immediately she retracts her thought. She knows what men's hands feel like all too intimately.

She gestures over to the pavilion, hidden by a wall of trees and takes a seat at her usual table she eats at for lunch. Jace follows close behind her, setting her on edge and she sidesteps him to take a seat so she can see the boy as he moves to sit across from her. She begins pulling out her own books so she can finish her homework while she tutors Jace but stops as Jace puts a brown paper bag down on the table. She freezes and looks up at it, eyeing it suspiciously as Jace digs out his own notebooks.

"What's that?" Clary asks skeptically, opening her biology notebook. The streetlights around the pavilion provide enough illumination that Clary can see her notes and the strong planes of Jace's face. She'd think him attractive if her brother and father weren't gorgeous. Gorgeous doesn't mean they're any nicer than what is on the outside.

Jace looks up at her. "It's breakfast. I didn't eat this morning and I assume you didn't either so I got some breakfast at Taki's."

Clary looks back down at her books, flipping to last night's biology homework that her brother prevented her from finishing. "Oh, okay. Um, so, we've been working on a genome project in biology. We have to pick a species and trace back the different mutations of the species. We've been working on it for a few weeks but Mr. Starkweather told me that you can have an extra week since you'll be working with me. I usually don't have a partner and apparently I'm the only free one. So you get to work with me." Clary says that with false enthusiasm.

She doesn't want to work with anyone, doesn't want to have be weighed down by an extra person on her project. It also makes her have to get to know someone closer. All the people aside from Simon have been uncaring and dense. They don't care about her, they don't care anyone but themselves. And judging from Jace's care, arrogant swagger and designer clothes, he's no better. So she might as well get this tutor job over with and go back to staying in the background.

She looks up to find him staring at her and she immediately drops her gaze. "So what do you need help with or don't you understand?" Clary asks, putting down her math notebook and finishing the last few problems while Jace riffles through his notes.

"Uh, um, kind of everything," he says.

Clary smiles to herself as she hears the uncertainty in Jace's voice. She scribbles in an answer to one of her equations. "Be more specific. Pick a subject then the lesson we're studying."

"Uh." She can hear Jace riffling through his papers. "English!" He says triumphantly. "What are we doing in English?"

"We're studying satire. We just finished rereading Animal Farm last week. But other than that, as long as you know what satire is you should be caught up," Clary says, she pulls out her calculator. She punches in a few numbers and writes the answer beside the equation.

"What about biology? I'm completely lost, even with your explanation of genomes and mutations. Explain this to me," he says and Clary has to resist the urge to slap him across the face. He could at least show some manners. She bites her lip before launching into a full length explanation of the genomes and the project she's working on that Jace will now be working on with her curtesy of Mr. Starkweather. The sun begins to rise, lightening the sky as Clary finishes speaking about the biology assignment.

Jace looks somewhat brain dead as he watches her, trying to process everything she said. Clary smiles as she puts her books away. "Do you understand?" Clary says, snapping her bag closed. She still doesn't make eye contact, afraid that he might lash out in some way like her father and brother.

"I don't know, I might need another tutor lesson to completely grasp it. Do you think you could help me with that?"

Clary's smile dies on her face as those words leave his lips. His arrogant ass comments are driving a spike through her spine and driving up her fear level. She doesn't want to be anywhere near anyone else. Jace is just looking for a lay and Clary is _not _the one to go for, at all. But she doesn't think she can do anything, she hasn't been able to stop her brother and father before.

"Yeah, I can ask Mr. Starkweather about a tutor. But I wanted to get to the art room this morning. I'll get back to you on the tutor thing," Clary says, standing from the table. She glances at her watch. It's half an hour before school starts and she doesn't want to be alone with a boy, especially a pampered arrogant boy. She doesn't need to be involved with anyone, she doesn't want to get herself or someone else hurt and she certainly doesn't have time for more morning study sessions. She'll be surprised if she manages to stay awake today.

"Wait," Jace calls after her as she turns away. She pauses and turns back to him. "What about your breakfast?"

She glances to the brown paper bag sitting on the table next to Jace's stuff. It's open and there's an empty plastic container beside it. What does he mean she didn't eat any? He got himself breakfast and didn't offer her any. Why is he asking if she had any earlier? She looks back at Jace with a frown on her face. She tilts her head to the side.

"What about it?" She asks.

"Did you eat anything this morning?"

She knits her eyebrows and readjusts her bag, making her wince as her ribs throb. "No, why do you ask?"

Jace gestures back to the table and she notices a second white plastic box. Her heart does something she doesn't recognize and she looks back at Jace, his golden eyes sincere. Why would he get her breakfast? Why did he even notice her? Why is she the one Jace had to ask for help?

"You-You got me… breakfast?" Clary asks, searching his face. What does he want for it? What is he hoping to gain?

"Of course," Jace says, stepping forward. Her automatic reaction is to step back and turn her face away, bracing for a slap. "It's the least I could do…" Jace's voice fades into an odd tone as Clary looks back up at him, her eyes wide with fear. She can't figure out what he wants, if he's going to hit her. She can't let him know what her family does to her. She'd be ashamed to death for being so weak, not to mention she'll probably get beaten and abused until she's too frightened even talk to anyone for the rest of her life.

Jace takes another step forward and she backs up a few steps. "I have to go," she says, before spinning on her heel and dashing away into the school. Her body burns in protest to her sudden movement as she rushes down the hall and the back stairs to the basement where the art room is. She bursts inside and turns around to lock the door. She leans against the handle, breathing heavily. Her body screams in pain as her ribs throb and her shoulders ache. Not to mention the fiery pain flaring up between her legs as her body feels like it's slowly melting in lava.

She falls to the ground, wheezing as the pain envelops her body. She has to force herself not to scream or cry as she lies still on the linoleum tile. Everything hurts, everything hurts. It's a mantra, repeated over and over in her head. She forces it from her mind and replaces it. _Get up, don't show it. Get up, don't show it. _

Closing her eyes, she pulls herself off the ground and forces herself to walk out of the art room like nothing's wrong. No matter how painful. She climbs the back stairs stiffly and makes her way to Mr. Starkweather's room where he sits at his desk. He looks up as she enters and smiles kindly at her.

"Clarissa. How can I help you?"

"Can you move either mine or Jace's seat?" Clary asks. She needs to put as much distance between them as possible. She can't have him near her. Just something about him… She just can't be near him, for her own safety and his.

Mr. Starkweather gives her a droll stare. "You two are working partners on the biology project, Clarissa. I don't think it wise to have your partner across the room when you need to collaborate. Is there something wrong?"

"Yes. I don't think I'm the best person for Jace to be working with. He needs help to catch up on school work and I'm already struggling myself," Clary says, trying to find any excuse to get her away from Jace.

"I think your 4.0 GPA would beg to differ. You are one of my best students and you are perfect to help a new student," Mr. Starkweather says.

Clary groans inwardly, along with a silent scream as her body lights itself on fire. "Is there any chance you have the contact information of another tutor though? I really don't have time to tutor him sadly." Clary says, keeping her voice light so not to draw suspicion from her teacher. He seems to buy it and looks up the names of a few tutors for Jace in the school that can help catch him up. He hands the piece of paper to Clary just as the bell rings. Clary makes her way to her seat in the back. She didn't get a chance to put her bag in her locker or her biker jacket but she doesn't mind as it provides extra padding for her ribs and other injuries.

She winces as Jace sits down next to her but she forces herself to relax as he turns to her. "Are you okay? You seemed… I don't know, scared this morning," he asks her and she wants to snap at him for his false care. He doesn't give a damn about her nor does she want him to.

"Yeah, I just forgot I had to hand in my English paper before it was late this morning," Clary says, lying much more easily to him than she can to her brother and father. Jace nods his head in acknowledgement, reluctantly accepting her excuse before she turns back to throw herself into class. The day passes quickly and she and Jace fall into a normal routine of her helping him understand the concepts in class. He seems unsuspecting except for his reluctance this morning but other than that Clary relaxes.

She takes her lunch alone like she does every day and finishes off her classes by rushing to her locker and out to the parking lot, wanting to get home before Jace has the chance to talk to her. She throws on her helmet and jacket and peels out of the lot, speeding down the back streets towards her house. Pulling into the driveway, shivers run down her spine, along with pain and fear as she bolts up the stairs and into the house.

As soon as she shuts the door, she's caught up in someone's arms and swung around. She screams in pain and fear and surprise, clutching onto whoever's holding her. She drops her keys to the ground as her fists clench in a shirt. The spinning stops suddenly and she's set on her feet again. She's still clutching onto the person as pain rushes through her at the sudden movement. She's shaking as she can feel the strong hands clamped around hips. She's already shaken from Jace today and now this has her set on edge.

She looks up to see her brother with a wide grin on his face. Oh thank God. Clary breathes a sigh of relief and leans her head on his chest. He's in a good mood, she doesn't need to look forward to a beating from him at least. She can feel the rumbling laughter in his chest as he looks down at her. She pulls back and gives him a droll look.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" Clary asks and is thankful her voice isn't shaking. She checks her watch. "And home so early?"

Jonathan's grin widens as he moves his arms down to her thighs and picks her up. She yelps as her feet leave the ground and she instinctually wraps her legs around his waist along with locking her arms around his neck. He takes care to kiss her unbruised cheek.

"Father's gone on a business trip for a couple days. He won't be home until next Thursday. So little sister, I'm in a good mood because I don't get beaten for a full week and I get you to myself for a full week," he says joyously. Relief flutters in her chest as the knowledge that her father's leaving for a week of his most violent month sinks in. She also understands how much relief and joy is flooding Jonathan. She can empathize with her brother because their father still uses the belt on his back.

Valentine's never been the nicest father but he was a good one before Jocelyn died and still has the conscious to take care of his own and protect them from others even if he doesn't protect them from himself. He's always made sure that they have everything they need but he doesn't stand for disobedience or failure and he just abuses Clary because of his grief. But, even with this news, Clary still feels dread flood her veins. Just because her brother's the gentler of the two men doesn't mean she likes it or wants it anymore. And it's not like her brother doesn't hit her, worse if he found out about Jace…

Any association with men for her is considered trespassing onto his property in her brother's eyes. And his rule: Trespassers will be shot; survivors will be shot again and if still alive, slapped with a restraining order.

"I'm home because I don't have any classes on Friday afternoons. You know that," Jonathan says, setting her down. Clary nods her head, remembering that her brother does in fact not have classes Friday afternoon but doesn't usually come home until late because he likes to go clubbing with his friends. She carefully pulls away from her brother to pick up her keys, wincing as her ribs cry out from bending over.

Clary steps around her brother and slowly, painfully makes her way upstairs. She knows Jonathan's trailing behind her and frankly she doesn't care. Everything is burning and aching and she just wants to lie down and not move on her goose down mattress for at least five minutes. Stumbling into her bedroom, she leans against her desk, throwing her keys and bag on it while draping her leather jacket over her chair.

She takes her sweater off along with her jeans, feeling like the fabric is constricting her muscles and pressing against all the sensitive parts of her body. She limps over to her bed and collapses atop on her back. She groans as everything settles down, her fear and pain draining into her mattress for another time. She closes her eyes, mentally reciting her list of chores to see what she needs to do after she lays here for a little while. Laundry; check. Mopping; ugh, tomorrow. Trash; check. Bathrooms; check. Dinner; maybe later if Jonathan makes her. She never has an appetite during the four weeks Valentine abuses her the worst. Clean the kitchen; check. Homework; check. Wash the vehicles; she'll check later.

She tries to remember if she needs to do anything else but is interrupted by her door opening and closing. She sighs in exhaustion as she feels her brother's hands run up her thighs to the top button of her blouse. He showers light kisses all over her neck and face; despite the actions his care and concern for her with his gentle touches and avoidance of her bruises means a lot to her, even if he is making foreplay to sex with his sister. She feels ashamed as he pops open her buttons slowly, working his way down her body. She used to fight him, used to try and save her dignity, her virginity but it's only ever made these things worse. They're unpleasant as they are but when she did fight her brother, all he'd do is take a pair of handcuffs and chain her to the bed after considerable physical abuse.

He used to slap her, kick her, hit her, he still does but only if she disobeys or upsets him. Valentine does it for the hell of it. She isn't completely compliant though, sometimes, with Jonathan, she resists. But only until she realizes she doesn't really want to be violently raped again, as with her father. She always fights her father because no matter what, he beats her and is always painful. If she doesn't with Jonathan, she can sustain less damage she's discovered but right now, the very thought sex or kissing from anyone, especially her brother, is making her.

She reaches up and grabs her brother's wrists, stopping his progress. She feels Jonathan tense as he raises his head from her stomach where he was laying gentle kisses over one of her old scars. She doesn't know what has her brother so interested in her. Her body's ugly, scarred and bruised. Her stature is nothing to gawk at, small and short and scrawny with some muscle definition. Her freckles make a freaking dot-to-dot drawing map on her face and her red hair is always a mess. She honestly doesn't know why he bothers.

"Clarissa," he growls in warning.

"Please don't," Clary whispers meekly, opening her eyes and looking up at him above her. "I just want ten minutes to myself. Please," Clary begs, hating she's been reduced to this.

His black eyes flash in anger and Clary recoils from the ferocity of it. That look was what he wore when she'd slapped him away the very first time, right before he took her down and chained her to his bed to rape her. That look is why she doesn't resist much against her brother. When he's angered, he's almost worse than her father. Moving faster than she can track, he's reversed the grip on her wrists, pinning them above her head. Her body is now stretched out underneath Jonathan's, her legs and feet bare and her shirt fallen open to expose her blue cotton bra.

She whimpers in fear as Jonathan sneers at her. "You've had the whole day to yourself, little sister, and I'm feeling very edgy. Care to push me?" He says, his voice deceptively soft, his nose millimeters from hers. She tries to sink into her mattress but it hurts too much. So she resorts to trembling beneath her brother. She still finds it amazing how quickly he can change the mood of a room from gentle and playful to menacing and have her shaking in her boots.

She shakes her head. "Can I at least take a shower?" She says dejectedly. Jonathan audibly growls and pulls her off the bed. She yelps as he slings her over his shoulder and carries her to the bathroom. "Put me down," she yells, anger making her voice high and loud. She can't remember the last time she yelled. She's screamed but not outright shouted at someone.

Jonathan sets her down in the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it, slamming her against the wall. She cries out as it hits her ribs. He's caged her in with his arms, pinning her against the wall. She turns away from him, flattening herself against the door. She's shaking, trembling as she keeps expecting her brother to lash out at her. She screams as she feels him grab her chin. She tries to push him away or get away from him but he pulls her toward him and slams her back against the door, wrenching her face around to look at him.

"Just calm down," he shouts. Then quiets his voice. "Calm down. I won't do anything to you yet, okay?" He cups her face and holds her still. She stares at him, her heart pounding and her chest heaving. The pain and panic build up in her chest, tightening her throat. Jace can't find out about what happens to her, he can't get too close. He'll be disgusted and tell everyone else. She'll be forced into exile of the social classes involuntarily instead of residing there comfortably as it is. She'll be beaten by her father so horribly she won't be able to move for a solid week. And her brother will keep her locked in his room not only to add to the abuse but to humiliate her more as he goes on a possessive tirade.

She tries to shake her head as tears pour over her cheeks, four years of pent up emotions all come boiling over, pushed up by some British exchange student that can't tell a genome from a leaf. She hasn't cried since her mother died, even with all the beatings and rape. She's never shed a tear over it but now, it's just too much. She doesn't want to be here with her brother or father, she doesn't want to be here without her mother, even if it's in a plush, lavish mansion in the upper district of New York.

They pour over and sting her cuts with the salt. Her brother slips his arms around her waist and pulls her close. She tucks her face into the crook of his neck, linking her arms around his shoulders. Her breath catches and Jonathan strokes her hair. She clamps down on the tears, pulling away from her brother. If she's going to cry, she'd rather do it alone not in the arms of one of the causes of her problems. She moves to retreat back to her room but Jonathan reaches up and slams the door shut, locking it.

"You said you were going to take a shower, little sister. Let me help you relieve some of that stress," he says and that care in his voice is back. That brotherly protection that he's always showed her but the way and execution has changed. He truly wants to help her relieve her stress just not in a clean way. He steps back from her once she's stopped struggling. She might as well just let him have what he wants so she can go to bed early and try her best to sleep. "Take your blouse off," he says quietly, his voice filled with lust and she can see the restraint he's showing. He won't be able to last the night.

Clary reluctantly shrugs off her blouse that hangs open around her shoulders. It pools on the floor and she hugs her elbows across her blue bra, keeping her eyes on the floor. "Now your bra," he says, still keeping a distance from her. He turns to flip her shower on as she release the front catch of her bra and lets the straps fall from her shoulders. She cups herself to hide her breasts but Jonathan turns back toward her. He approaches slowly, like approaching a cornered animal and hooks his fingers in the waistband of her panties, sliding them down her legs.

Clary can feel her blush all over her body as Jonathan strips and slowly nudges her toward the shower. She really doesn't want to do this but her body is still too tender and in too much pain to risk being hurt again. Her brother shuts the shower door behind her and grabs a wash cloth before lathering it with her body wash. He starts by turning her and washing down her back, lightening his touch as he skims the bruises down her spine.

He kneels behind her and washes the backs of her legs. He gets them lathered rather quickly, not having an injuries to avoid, and slowly stands, running his hands over her sides. He runs it over her shoulder blades, stepping closer to her and resting his chin on her shoulder. She's still covering her chest with her hands and arms, not welcoming the lusting stare her brother gives her as he turns her around. She looks up at his face so she doesn't have to look at _him_. He gently pries her arms from her chest before he slowly savors the sensation of washing her.

"Why the sudden burst of shyness, little sister? You've never hidden from me before," her brother says, dipping his head down beside her ear as his hand travels lower over her stomach. She winces slightly as he skims her ribs but other than that, he takes care not to hurt her… yet.

"I just don't feel like being you're prostitute right now," Clary murmurs and doesn't flinch as she gets the slap she was expecting.

"Don't ever say something like to me again," he grits through his teeth. Her head is still turned to the side from the slap but she can still imagine the look of anger on her brother's face. Her comment though has the desired effect as he throws the cloth at her feet and exits the shower. She bends down to pick it up and wash the rest of her then conditions her hair and steps out.

After she's dried herself, she throws on a loose shirt and sweat pants before collapsing again on the bed. Her cheek throbs but she just rejoices in the silence of her room. That is until her door is thrown open and she's wrenched from the bed by her upper arm. Her eyes fly open and she's met with a sullen Jonathan. She can practically taste his irritation, not that she gives a damn at the moment.

"What?" Clary asks snidely and yelps as he digs his nails into her bruised rib.

"Don't you dare take that tone with me," he hisses before releasing her side. "Get your shoes on, I have a football game." He shoves Clary away before crossing his arms over his chest. She coughs in pain before stumbling over to her desk where she threw her shoes and pulls them on. She slides into her leather jacket. Spilling her school books on her desk, she throws her iPod and sketch book in her bag.

"Can I drive my bike?" Clary asks over her shoulder.

"No," is his curt answer.

She replaces her keys on the desk before turning back to her brother who takes her upper arm, already bruised and aching, and drags her downstairs. After locking the door behind him he practically throws her down the stairs and tosses her into the passenger seat of his Corvette. She adjusts herself to get more comfortable in the sports car as her brother gets into the driver's side and takes off out the driveway and onto the street toward his college where a home game is going to be played tonight.

After pulling into the parking lot an hour early, just as all the players are supposed to, Jonathan shows her to the box where a nice couch has been set up with a T.V. to view the game, along with the large windows to watch the game from above. A snack bar is set up in the corner. Jonathan shoves her in.

"It's a shared box, here's some cash and remember that I have the car keys and security on call if you wander off," Jonathan says before leaving to go change and warm up with the other players starting to file out on the field.

Clary throws her bag down on the coffee table and collapses on the couch, loving that her brother is the star player and has access to the most lavish boxes in the stadium. She sinks into the couch, reaching over to pull out her iPod and earbuds, turning the music up high and going to sleep instead of watching her brother's stupid football game.

She wakes up an hour later to the sounds of the crowd starting to pour in for the game. She pulls out her earbuds and winces as she turns to place her feet on the ground. Her ankle is still sore from being crushed last night even though she made it through school. Slowly standing, she walks over to the windows to observe the people pouring in to watch her brother play. She can see her brother in his uniform, warming up on the field with the rest of his team.

She can see the scoreboard being setup and tested, the red numbers flashing randomly. The bleachers are almost completely full. Clary moves over to pick up the remote for the T.V. to turn on the game. They're just starting intros as she turns it to ESPN. The announcers are rattling on about the players and their stats as Clary sits down on the couch with a hand full of pretzels from the snack bar.

They've just kicked off when the door to the box opens, spilling in a family of five. All beautiful black hair, tall and slender and stunning. The mother looks like she doesn't want to be here, the father, completely overly enthusiastic. They have three kids with them, two, sadly, she recognizes form school. The Lightwoods, Alec and Isabelle. Alec's a senior with ridiculously blue eyes and Isabelle is the school's girl clique queen. They have a little boy with them around eight or nine who looks exactly like Alec except with square glasses on, the kind that Simon used to wear.

"See I told you we wouldn't be late," the little boy says, flouncing over to the windows and sitting in one of the chairs to watch. The Lightwood's all file in, leaving the door open for the last person she needs to see at the moment. Jace. His gorgeous golden curls are messy and completely stunning. His molten gold eyes scan the room as he closes the door behind him, locking onto her as he sees her. His face lights up with a beautiful smile that actually warms her heart with his enthusiasm at seeing her.

He doesn't say anything as the father of the Lightwood's comes up to her, sticking out his hand. "I'm Robert. I presume you are who we're sharing this box with?"

Clary stands from the couch and shakes his hand cautiously, nodding. He's a big man, barrel chested and broad. One that looks capable of cruelty but is too excited to be at the game to show it. "Yeah. I'm Clary, my brother's on the home team."

A strangled noise comes from the little boy over by the window who jumps from his seat and shoves his father out of the way, staring energetically up at her. He's seems wired, like he's on a candy binge. Way too much sugar. "Really? Who's your brother? Is he good? Does he play a lot? What are his stats? How many touchdowns does he have?"

Clary tries to respond but his questions buzz around in her head, confusing her. She doesn't know anything about football despite her brother playing it.

"Uh…"

Jace steps in front of her, saving her from answering. "Wow, wow, Max. Don't give the lady a heart attack with your football mania. I kind of need this one," Jace says in front of her and Clary is stunned into silence. No one's ever needed her and how can a man she just met need her? Max, the little boy, starts questioning again but Jace silences him and turns back to her. He stands over her, making her crane her neck and his beautiful golden eyes sparkle, making warmth, completely separate from her pain, blossom in her chest.

"If I might ask to shut my brother up, who is your brother?" He asks in the sweetest baritone she's ever heard. She hadn't noticed it the two days before, too determined to keep her secret hidden and drive him away but listening to him now, it seems to soothe something inside her.

"Jonathan Morgenstern," she says, quieter than she'd wanted to sound. She clears her throat, shaking her head as she turns back to the couch. "I'll just… um, go… over here." She bows her head and retreats to the couch where she puts in her earbuds and pulls out her sketchbook.

She's completely absorbed in her sketches, loving that she gets to sketch again. She hasn't sketched in months. This is Jonathan's first game of the season so she hasn't gotten personal time. She delves into the sketch and before she knows it, she's created a sketch of an apple tree, the blossoms blooming before the apples come in. She flips to the next page and starts on another sketch. She closes her eyes, trying to figure out what to sketch. Something floats to the forefront of her mind just as Imagine Dragon's Nothing Left to Say Now comes on.

She starts to draw planes and angles on her page. She doesn't really see what she's drawing, listening to her music and the cheering crowd as someone scores a touchdown. She nearly jumps as Jace settles down next to her. He stretches out, leaning over toward her. He pulls out one of her earbuds, gently, not like Jonathan would do.

"You didn't have that yesterday," Jace says, eyes gliding over her face. Usually she'd feel dirty under that kind of gaze, one that searches and admires but Jace's makes her blush. His shirt pulls taut over his arms, exposing well defined muscles as her eyes wander.

"Didn't have what?" Clary asks in a slightly wistful voice and she recoils from herself. She doesn't want to be attracted to anyone. All the men in her life have betrayed her and hurt her. She doesn't need another one.

Jace lifts his hand to his cheekbone and brushes a finger over it. "The cut on your cheekbone. I saw the bruise on Thursday but the cut wasn't there. Did your brother, the all-star quarter back with perfect hand-eye coordination, nail you with a door again?"

Clary's chest tightens as she raises a hand to her cheek. She feels the slight scab spanning her high cheekbone. She keeps a straight face, trying not to panic as she lets her hand fall back to her lap. She forces confusion onto her face. "I don't know actually, I was painting earlier with acrylic mixing knives," she lies. "I could have cut myself then."

Jace looks doubtful and Clary's anxiety builds before he continues in his lovely baritone. "What are you doing there?"

Clary looks down at her sketch book, only just realizing what she was sketching and snaps the book shut as her eyes widen. "Sketching," she says, stowing it in her bag before scooting farther away on the couch. Jace's proximity makes her nervous, especially with his arrogant air. Arrogance exudes from both her brother and father. Look where that got her.

"Have you painted long?" He asks cocking his head to the side as his eyes wander down her neck. She reaches up to let her hair down, brushing it over her shoulders to cover her neck. She still doesn't know how many hickeys from Jonathan or bruises from her father are left on her neck. She doesn't want to allow anyone to chance seeing them and start asking questions.

"My whole life," Clary says quietly, remembering how her mother bought her the first art set she ever owned. That got her started her on her entire art career. She'd made her decision to go to Liberal Arts College and get her art major. But she'd become a lot less enthused about art college after her mother died because of that very thing. She rips her gaze away from the golden boy sitting beside her before grief decides to slam her into the wall.

"That's pretty impressive," Jace says beside her. "May I see?"

Clary's head snaps up to look at Jace, confusion laces its way through her mind. Why would he want to see the doodles of a teenage girl he just met? It's not like they're anything special, at least to him but her sketchbook is like her diary. And it has too many incriminating sketches about herself, brother and father. If Jace or anyone ever saw her sketchbook, they'd look at her with disgust and revulsion for what they do to her. Her sketches aren't straight up pictures of what they do to her, but if you have an active imagination and can interpret well enough, you'd be able to figure it out pretty quickly.

Her sketch book holds all of her memories, of before her mother died, after and all the times in between. She always dates them so she knows what happened when. She has one sketch, one of her first sketches that depicts her family going to one of Jonathan's junior high football games. It shows from Clary's point of view with Jonathan's football game in the corner of her eye while she looks sideways at her parents cheering her brother on. On the field you can see Jonathan scoring his first touchdown, waving the ball around like a lunatic on high. It's crude but still decent enough to tell what it is. No, she can't let Jace see her sketchbook, it would be the death of her. So Clary smiles shyly at Jace, shaking her head.

"No, I don't think I'm good enough yet," she says, watching the look on the fair haired boy's handsome features. She tilts her head to study him more closely. He's beautiful in an artist's eye like hers. All his features are perfectly sculpted with his high cheekbones, straight nose, rounded golden eyes. His curls fall in his face like a messy toddler's but still manages to frame his wonderfully strong jaw and lush lips.

"One day then," Jace replies a smile curving his lips. Something flutters in her stomach at the look but she shoves it down, not willing to let Jace get a reaction out of her.

"One day," she repeats, turning back to the football game on screen now that she can't sketch with Jace sitting beside her, almost too close for comfort but he doesn't elicit the sense of fear she gets from her brother sitting too close. Even when she knows he isn't in the mood to hurt her, he always has this intimidating air that curls her stomach sickeningly. The feeling Jace puts off is almost as scary as her brother and father's, just in a different way.

"So what are you doing after this?" Jace asks and she wishes he would just shut up and stop trying to pry into her personal life. It's stringing her nerves along a barbed wire fence and electrocuting them. She shifts uncomfortably as her brother seals their thirty six point lead with another touchdown.

"I think my brother might throw a party at our house after this. I'll lock myself in my room and try to tune out the raging music blasting the plaster off my walls," Clary says and combs her hair forward to hide more of her neck. She can feel the heat of Jace's gaze on her hands as they move stiffly. She can feel her body aching with pain and something else.

"Do you want to escape said noise and come over to my place for dinner? Or we could study or work on homework or the project if you want," Jace says and Clary stiffens, making her sore muscles coil and protest.

"I can't. I need to make sure my brother doesn't do anything stupid after his third tequila bottle," Clary says, not wanting to lie to Jace. It's true that her brother usually does something stupid after drinking but it's usually to her.

"You sure? I could come keep you company," Jace prompts and Clary's cheeks flame in desperation and intrigue. She needs to stop his questioning and if Clary dares to bring a boy home Jonathan will personally skin him then beat some 'sense' into her. Jonathan would take great pleasure in claiming his territory by skinning Jace, tanning his hide and mounting his head on the wall above their fire place.

She's touched, actually, at the gesture Jace is making, enough that she smiles a genuine smile and turns toward Jace to see his hopeful look. "Yes, Jace, I'm sure. Thank you though," she says before standing from the couch and grabbing her bag. Jace bolts to his feet, standing with her.

"Where are you going?" He asks, stepping aside to let her walk to the door. The rest of the Lightwood's are standing over at the window watching the game. But Isabelle turns around to find the pair walking toward the door.

"Hey Jace, stop drooling over shorty over there and come watch the game," she calls, unaware at how deep that kind of insult cuts Clary. Clary's smile drops as she beelines toward the door. Jace's head snaps up to say something to Isabelle but she's already slipped out the door. She holds back tears. The insult, despite how insignificant it is, tears at her conscious. Her father always degrades her for her looks because of the similarity to Jocelyn so she's developed an aversion to her looks. It's what causes her abuse and therefore anything, comment or insult, to scrutinize her after the many insults she's received from her father, sets her on edge and cuts at her soul until she can barely stand.

She weaves through the crowds of the football game, hearing the half time and the crowds thicken. Her chest tightens as she makes her way to bathrooms, the noise deafens her, swallowing up her thoughts as she pushes through the crowds, her small, petite frame always going unnoticed. She'd originally gotten up to go buy a snack but her appetite's gone. She slips through the people, trying not to make contact with too many people as her body flares up in pain, both physical and emotional.

Jonathan is the only one she's known not to insult her looks. He's the one who always comments on how beautiful she is, how her freckles beguile him. He always tells her that her hair is like a flame or the color of a sunset. One night when he was drunk he told her that she's the most beautiful woman he's ever laid eyes on. That just makes any comment, positive or negative, not have a good effect on her. She shoves into the bathroom, just before the half time crowd can get here to create a line, and locks herself in the first stall. She leans heavily against the wall, her body slowly melting in pain, wanting to collapse and sleep.

Leaning her head against the wall, she bites the sleeve of her jacket to muffle the scream of pain. Her breath heaving she's thankful that the noise of the stadium drowns out any other noise along with the crowd of women now milling around in the bathroom. Isabelle's words shouldn't bother her, no one from the popular cliques ever bother her but she feels extra sensitive from this afternoon and her brother's treatment. It's more degrading than usual. She doesn't dare sit down on this disgusting petri dish of a bathroom floor that reeks of hamburgers and pure football mania so she leans against the only slightly less testosterone drenched door.

She doesn't know how long her body radiates pain or how long her legs shake but the crowd dissipates for the next half of the game, leaving the bathroom completely empty. She finally lets out a whimper as between her legs throbs painfully. Jonathan's drunkenness tonight won't help that either. Drunk Jonathan equals rough Jonathan but at least when he's sober he makes an effort to be gentle. It hurts enough to make her reach a hand down there to clutch herself as the throbbing subsides. She's on the verge of tears by then, her breath coming in pained squeaks as she resists the urge to sink to her knees and scream.

She sucks in her breath and bites her lip as she hears the door open and close. Her muscles coil and stiffen as she hears the click of a lock. She closes her eyes and slows her breathing, withdrawing her hands from the pain between her legs and bracing them on her thighs.

"Clary?" She hears Jace's deep voice echo in the empty bathroom. Her muscles stiffen even more as she doesn't move an inch. "Clary, I know you're in here. I can see your boots. Will you come out please?" She looks up to see Jace's hand on top of the stall door, like he's leaning against it. "I'm sorry for what Izzy said. She's been lashing out because her boyfriend broke up with her. She thinks the world revolves around her and begs to grovel at the toes of her studded leather heels."

Clary smiles a little at Jace's comment but it makes her cheek ache. She presses her burning hand to it, sending more flames up her cheeks so she removes her hand like it's setting her skin on fire. "Izzy didn't mean it, Clary. Please can you come out?"

Clary reaches behind her and unlocks the latch. She's still leaning against the door so when Jace tries to push it open, he throws her forward, her weight completely unnoticed by someone who looks like he lifts weights with elephants. Before she can fall forward, Jace's hand closes around her upper arm and she has to use every fiber of her bruised body to not scream as he grips one of her many bruises.

She falls against Jace's rock hard body and she can't help but admire how toned he is. His other arm come around her waist to hold her up, pressing his biceps against her side. Despite her body's injuries, he feels good pressed against her. So much so that she instinctually melts against him, none of the threat from her brother or father evident in Jace's stance. He's merely holding her. But she knows better, no one wants her for anything other than an outlet and she's already got two barbed plugs dug into her.

So she pulls away from Jace, using the last little abused shreds of her willpower to keep herself upright and straight faced. No one's touched her without a reason to causes her harm. She drops her gaze, bowing her head.

"What do you want Jace?" Clary asks, noticing how he's pinning her in the stall. She can't get around his hulking mass of handsome muscle. Her heart rate spikes and not just because she's trapped by a bulging mass of power.

Jace braces his hand on either side of the stall, leaning down toward her face to catch her eye. "I wanted to see if you were okay… but I don't think you were ever okay to begin with," he says in a soft voice that seems to caress her cheek even without him moving his hands, his golden eyes so sympathetic he could get the devil himself to be compassionate.

Clary's eyes snap up, staring straight into his molten pools. "What is that supposed to mean?" Clary asks defensively, wanting to back up but is stopped by the close confines and fish killing toilet.

"I don't know," he says leaning down. "Would you like to tell me?" His nose is inches from her face. Her bravado fades immediately at his proximity and the looming way he towers over her. Heat washes over her and his eyes flick to her lips, lingering then moving back up to her eyes. Fear rushes through her, images of her brother and father doing the exact same thing flashing before her eyes.

"No," she says, her voice small and timid. "I wouldn't. Can I go watch my brother win the football game now?"

Jace immediately backs down, stepping away from her so she can step out of the stall but he gently takes her upper arm to drag her to a stop. She turns but he just walks her against the wall, bracing his hands on either side of her. He tilts his head to the side and leans down to catch her gaze she's lowered.

His British accent laces his voice and makes her shudder with need. "Clary," he says softly. "I just want to help. Will you please tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong Jace," Clary says, wrapping her arms around herself in a visceral act to protect her body. "I need to go."

Jace looks disappointed in her as he reaches down and takes her hand in his, turning it palm up. She tries to pull away but Jace holds her tight as he flicks up her sleeve to her elbow. The skin is clear, it being her right one because Jonathan and Valentine always grasp her left wrist when they're doing something to her. The one that is bruised and marred, she holds behind her back, out of Jace's reach. He looks up at her, confused.

"Nothing's wrong Jace. I told you. I want to go finish the game now please," she whispers as Jace releases her wrist and she turns the sleeve down. Her face is turned down, away from him and he brushes her hair away from her neck, realizing that he was staring at her neck earlier, bruises probably still marring her usually perfect skin.

"You're a terrible liar, you know," he says gently, careful to keep any threat out of his voice and with his British accent, he's definitely coming close. "Because unless these are some nasty hickeys, I would definitely say something is wrong."

Clary shudders with fear and desire as Jace leans closer so she can feel his breath across her skin. She lets out a long breath through her mouth. "Tell me what's wrong," Jace whispers and she can feels his lips brush over her cheek, her bruised cheek. Jonathan's advances have never made her feel the raging fire that's setting off her hormones before but just Jace's proximity is curling desire and heat off of her aching skin.

"Jace," Clary whispers, her chest tightening. She turns back and her lips brush over his. She freezes realizing what she's doing. She can't do this, if her brother ever found out she'd never be allowed to be alone ever again. Let alone sit in a shared box during his football game. Ice pours through her veins with the realization and she ducks out of Jace's arms, heading for the bathroom door and quickly unlocking it. She steps out into the thinned crowd and rushes back to the box, hoping Jace won't confront her in front of the Lightwoods.

She walks over to the windows, where Max and Alec are sitting on one of the couches. She settles down on the far side, away from the two boys and far away from Isabelle. The game's coming to a close when Jace comes back in. She can feel the hair rising on the back of her neck when he comes to stand behind her. She can feel him cross his arms over his chest and his gaze flit down to her every few minutes as her brother scores the winning touchdown and half the stadium shoots to their feet, shouting cheers and encouragements. Robert, Alec and Max all shoot to their feet as well as her brother's teammates run over to congratulate him.

Jace remains silent as the boys and man beside her chatter excitedly before gathering up their stuff and filing out the door. Isabelle and her mother stand, chatting about something and Clary stands to leave with them, planning on going down to the parking lot to wait for her brother, so she doesn't end up alone in the room with Jace. He doesn't say a word or make a move to stop her as she melts into the crowd. Her ribs and core burn as she descends the stairs to the parking lot.

The columns of blazing light illuminate the dark parking lot like it's the middle of the day and she finds the V.I.P. parking lot where her brother's Corvette is parked. She sits on the hood, not caring that her brother would yell at her and pulls out her sketch book. She flips over to the sketch she's started in the box but had stopped because of Jace's prying eyes. The shadow of Jace's features are illuminated by the pool of lamplight her brother's car sits in.

She fills in the lines and angles but she can't get his face right, it looks like it him but it's just not… right. She irately flips the book closed to find the parking lot mostly empty except for the players' cars in the V.I.P. lot and her brother walking toward her with a bunch of his teammates, girls hanging off their arms by the dozens. She slides off the car before her brother can see her sitting on his precious baby.

"Ah," Jonathan shouts as he walks up to her, the rest of the team going off to their large, luxury SUVs and snazzy sports cars. "My little sister." He wraps her up in a bear hug and swings her around before setting her down. Arms still around her shoulders he turns back to shout at his buddies, Sebastian included. "Hey, don't forget the party at my place later." He turns back to her, holding out an arm toward the passenger side. "Shall we?"

Clary climbs into the car and revels in the fact her brother's in a better mood. He smiles over at her before gunning his car after his teammates and to their house. He goes first and opens the security gate to the raging populace of football drunken maniacs gathered behind Jonathan's Corvette. The circle driveway is big enough to house the entire fleet of luxury vehicles of the football team and the street quickly lines with cars of invited guests and general populace who would like to get drunk and noticed by the home football team.

Clary exits the car as fast as her body can possibly take her before the crowds can crush her. Austere in her movements, she makes her way up the stairs just as their state of the art sound system begins to blast trance music and rattles the very walls of the mansion. She looks back as the doors are flung open to let the pour of bulky football players then the drunken herds in. Screams and shouts sound from the main floor and Clary turns around to continue up the stairs. The pounding of the music echoes through the house and causes a headache to sprout through the back of her head.

"Clary!"

She pretends she didn't hear her name being called because she doesn't want to deal with anyone and continues up the stairs.

"Clary!" The shout comes again just as she reaches the top of the stairs. The lights of the house are shut off and replaced with the colored and strobe lights installed throughout the large mansion. Someone catches her by the hem of her leather jacket and drags her to a halt. She spins quickly, ripping the hem of her jacket out of the large agile hand of Sebastian Verlac.

"What do you want Sebastian?" Clary asks, taking a step away from his large, hulking form.

He smiles down at her. "Aren't you going to join the party Little Red?" Sebastian asks, leaning against the railing and staring down at her. She hates the nickname Sebastian's given her. She doesn't know why, just does.

"I have homework to do Bash. Unlike a college football all-star like you," Clary says, resituating her bag on her shoulder then turning around to walk to her room. Sebastian catches up to her and matches her short stride easily.

"Oh, c'mon Clary. Surely you have the whole weekend to do it." She notices that he keeps his hands shoved into his pockets and is grateful he doesn't touch her because for that she would have to coldcock him and tell her brother. Then her brother would most likely skin his linebacker and mount hide on the wall next to Jace's if Jonathan finds out about him.

She gets to her door and turns on the linebacker. "I have a project due so no, I can't. Tell my brother to drink some tequila for me," she says before entering her room and shutting the door on Sebastian. She makes sure to lock her door, the only time she does is when there are giant hordes of drunken college boys partying in her house.

Leaning against the door, she tries to muster up the strength to make it to her shower but she can't get past the burning in her core. Her nails scratch the door frame as it dies down enough for her to make it to the bathroom and strip her clothes. She flips on the hot water and watches it fall from the ceiling waterfall spout. There's still dried blood on the tile floor and she uses her toe to rub it, and the memories that go with it, away. She does a measly wash job due to her pain but makes sure to not scrub too harshly down there.

Stepping out of the shower she wraps a towel around herself and sighs as she realizes that if she can bear the bass line of the trance music, she gets to go to bed early and undisturbed. She pulls out her medical kit, planning on bandaging her wounds but there really isn't anything she can do for them so she slides it back under her counter and walks to her closet where she slowly and gently pulls on baggy sweat pants and a short sleeve shirt.

Collapsing onto the bed, letting out a yelp of pain drowned out by the trance music, Clary buries herself under the covers, trying to fall asleep to the hypnotizing thumping of the music the partiers downstairs are listening to. Unsurprisingly, she eventually passes out from the pain, feeling the drum line pulse through her body like Valentine's hand cracking across her skin.

She wakes in the middle of the night to pounding. At first she thinks it's her body or the trance music that's still blasting but no, there's a fist slamming on the door to her bedroom. She drags herself out of bed, her body complaining all the way and over to the door. She should've been able to sleep in tomorrow. With Valentine gone and it being Saturday, plus Jonathan's all night rager probably leaving him too drunk to get up before one, she could've slept in, gotten up around ten or eleven, made herself breakfast, relaxed and recuperated before her brother woke up and demanded she nurse his hangover and clean up the party mess. She still has that to look forward to. Waking up all the drunken, hollow bodies and kick them out of her house. Whoopee.

She unlocks her door, bleary eyed but ready to coldcock the offender, when her brother's lips slam down onto hers, tasting of beer, vodka and hard whiskey. His arm snakes around her waist while the other stretches back to slam her door shut and lock it. He leans back against it, his balance inhibited by the insane amount of alcohol flowing through his body. At least he's responsible at his parties, his rule is if you drink, you sleep over or call a cab. Most people sleep over, wanting the chance to stay in a football all-star's mansion for the night and sleep in one of the forty thousand spare bedrooms they have. Though most of those are taken up by the rest of his football team and their whores- sorry, _girlfriends._

Jonathan is too drunk to stand on his own two feet, so he leans heavily on her door as his hands clumsily pull up his shirt and discard it on the floor. Her body throbs in expectation of pain caused by movement and touching in general. Though he's coherent enough to have a light touch, unable to avoid her bruise and cuts because her entire body is essentially one big bruise so he settles for stumbling forward, pushing her back toward her bed. Her knees hit the bed and she falls backward, catching herself on her elbows as her brother follows her down. He kisses her throat, drawing at the already tender skin as he hastily undoes his belt buckle.

He hoists her up on the bed, unlooping his belt from his jeans. She closes her eyes, trying not to scream in frustration or struggle against her brother. She knows what he's going to do, he does it on and off because apparently it turns him on to see her restrained and helpless beneath him, he did it all the time the first few months when he had to and has obviously developed a liking for it. Taking her lips again, he grabs her wrists and lifts them above her head. Taking his belt, he loops it around her wrists and re-buckles it tightly so she can't move her hands.

She pulls against the restraint, months of being held down and forced in to, washing over her, causing her breath to shorten as Jonathan drags her sweat pants down her legs. She can feel the leather biting into her already bruised wrists, warm liquid starting to trickle down her arms. She continues straining against the belt as Jonathan strips her panties with his teeth. Despite the routine of this and her mind screaming at her not to struggle because it will only make it worse, she lets out a whimper of distress as she pulls her wrists down to her face to see better.

She closes her legs and squirms away from her brother who was just about to lean down and lick her thighs. He looks up, anger blazing in his eyes, and surges forward, catching her against the headboard and pinning her bound wrists on the wall above her head. Her breath is short and panicked but she won't cry, she's past that. She tries to kick him away and he sneers, forcing her legs apart with his knees and pressing her back against the head board.

"Don't defy me, sister. You wouldn't want me angry would you? I can hurt you just as badly as father and you know it," he whispers darkly in her ear, making her breath catch in her throat. "Don't make me hurt you. Be a good little girl, sit quietly and don't move. Got it?"

His teeth scrape against her throat and she has a fear of him growing fangs and sinking them into her jugular. She whimpers once more, trying to shrink away from him but she just nods. He continues ravishing her neck while he ravages her body, jerking down his boxers and thrusting into her. He body screams out in pain, pain from last night and the violence wreaked on her body. He goes slow as Clary cries out in pain with the first few thrusts. His free hand comes up to cover her mouth, muffling her whimpers and cries but he starts moving in such a way that it isn't too terribly painful, not pleasurable but not horribly painful.

He raises his head from her neck, drawing out of her slowly and pushing back into her until he's buried hilt deep. Clary's head is angled away from his but she looks down out of the corner of her eye to see her brother staring at her with a satisfied, totally drunken look. His muscular hand still covers her mouth, stifling the few cries her body issues when the pain becomes too much and his other hand still has her wrists pinned above her head on the wall. She draws deep breaths through her nose, trying to stay conscious through the pain as her brother bucks his hips, throwing his head back in a moan before dipping down and pushing up her shirt with his nose to suckle her right breast.

The only slightly enjoyable thing being done to her, despite her disgust, makes her moan softly. Jonathan hears this and removes his hand, moving his hips slowly, minimizing her pain and amazing her that he's still lucid enough to consider her pain/pleasure level. He keeps licking and sucking at her breast, making small bouts of pleasure surface through the pain and soft, quiet moans escape from her lips. His hand that was previously on her mouth is sitting on her hip, jerking hers forward to grind her pelvis against his. She holds back tears as the hypersensitive, bruised skin rubs against Jonathan's hard body.

He stops suckling her breast, making the only source of pleasure and the only thing sort of working her through the pain disappear and letting her shirt fall down, to reclaim her lips in a gentle, yet somehow forceful, kiss, lifting her onto his lap to further penetrate her. Her skin twinges painfully in her core, still ripped through from Valentine, and she yelps into her brother's mouth, tearing away from him to lean her head back against the wall as she tries to stifle the pain. Jonathan lets out a deep groan as he releases, making her sting.

He withdraws from her body, pulling her wrists down from the wall and laying her flat on the bed. He pulls her shirt up her body until it's stretched over her eyes so what little visibility she had in the dark room leaves. She's stretched out, bare naked before her brother and bound up without sight. Her body shudders in fear at what he will do to her, every touch shocks fear through her like electrical currents as her brother gently touches her body.

He starts by lightly tracing over her ribs, scaring her almost mindless with pain and fear then over her quivering, bruised stomach before gently running his fingers over her cleft. She starts to shift and pull at the belt again, desperate to get away from the feeling of absolute helplessness but the moment she does, her brother growls, removing his gentle touch and replacing it with a bruising hand on her hip and wrists as he holds her down.

"What did I tell you?" He snaps, his nails digging into her side. She arches up, crying out as she tries to escape the pain but her brother's hand holds her pinned to the bed. She's panting through her teeth, struggling to stay conscious through the pain. If she passes out, he'll just wake her up again even angrier. He grabs her chin and turns her face towards him despite the shirt blocking her vision. "What. Did. I. Tell. You?" He punctuates every word fiercely, his grip on her chin and hip tightening painfully.

"Stay still," Clary whimpers, trying to pry her jaw loose but his grip holds fast.

"And what are you going to do?" He asks, his voice surprisingly clear for being drunk.

"Stay still," she whispers, before he lets go and returns to gently stroking her throbbing core. Him and his bipolar mood swings. She'll never understand them. She settles back on the bed only to arch up again as he licks her sweet spot. His lips press against her gently, still eliciting sparks of pain but not terrible ones. His tongue dips into her before deliberately massaging her clitoris. It still hurts but small bubbles of pleasure well up inside her. She whimpers through it, feeling disgusted and degraded. Through the pain it take almost an hour for Jonathan to work her up to an orgasm. At least when she climaxes it temporarily washes away the incessant pain radiating all over her body. She tries to draw it out as long as possible, disgusted that her brother can do this to her, but all too soon she falling back on the bed, strength and consciousness bleeding away from her.

She feels her brother collapse beside her and immediately his soft snore echoes through her head. She dully registers she's still bound and blinded but doesn't have the strength to try and get loose. The world slowly slips away, not that she wants any part of it if this is her life.


	3. Chapter 3

Bonjour lovelies! How are you? This chapter is shorter than the res but that is because it's very dramatic. I'm sick the A/N isn't going to be very long 'cuz it's giving me a headache but I hope you enjoy the chapter and thank you so much for the wonderful reviews and views and continued interest in my dabblings. Enjoy the chapter.

* * *

Clary wakes to a sore body and bleeding wrists. She'd pulled against her brother's belt in the night, making fresh blood trickle down her arms and stain her white sheets. She moaned in pain as she rolled over, her shirt falling down to give her some visibility. The clock said it was around nine and her brother must have be out cold. That bastard left her trussed up. Was she going to have to wait until he wakes up to get unbound and start cleaning up his mess? Hell, no.

"Jonathan," Clary said, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat and spun around painfully to find her brother sprawled on his stomach, asleep. She managed to sit up, her shirt falling down completely, allowing her to have some decency. She brought her wrists down, shaking his forearm with her bound hands. He didn't even twitch. Sighing, she painfully maneuvered her leg up and kicked him over. He groaned, shifting around before one eye opened to a slit and narrowed at her.

She presented her wrists. "Untie me," she stated sternly, knowing he wasn't feeling well enough to do more than glare and even then pathetically. Lifting his arm in a great show of effort, as though it was made of lead weights with elephants standing on it, he flopped it over onto the belt binding her wrists. His clumsy, slow fingers managed to undo the belt buckle before he passed out again. She slid the belt off, rubbing at her wrists before pulling on her underwear and pants.

Irritated, not sure why but why shouldn't she be, she left her bedroom. Despite her bruised and battered body, she wanted to clear out her house of all the drunks before they get up and around and try to solicit shit off of them. She finds people passed out in the foyer like dead bodies. Her hair falls forward into her face as she flings open the double doors that somehow, amazingly, managed to get closed. Nudging people with her feet and yelling at them to get up and get out, she slowly progresses into the house, through her living room, family room, dining room, kitchen before the sea of passed out drunks stops abruptly at the locked up wings of the house. Jonathan always cordons off the majority of the house, concentrating most of his drunks in the front rooms where it's easy to clean. She can at least thank him for that.

Just as she's getting the last of the people out of her house, who aren't the football team, residing in the guest bedrooms, she sees a familiar head of golden blond hair bobbing across her lawn from the open security gates. Dread settles in her stomach. She must look horrible, her hair must be all frizzy and messy. There are probably bags under her eyes. She's in her sweats and a sleep shirt, no bra… wait, what the hell is she talking about? She doesn't have any concealer on and her arms are bare, not to mention her bloody wrists.

Before she even has time to close the doors, he's up the stairs and staring down at her. She quickly hides her wrists behind her back, trying not to look guilty under Jace's scrutiny. He has a smile on his lips that melt her insides and she wants to run away to hide in a corner because of it. Jonathan might come down at any moment, despite the unlikeliness of him being coherent before two. Then what, how would she explain this? Or one of his teammates tattles on her?

"Jace, what are you doing here?" Clary asks as Jace shoves his hands in his pockets and his smile wavers slightly. "How did you know where I live?" This isn't good, this isn't good; she ducks her head, trying to conceal the fingerprint bruises that must be showing on her chin. If her father finds out, or her brother. Oh god, he might be on the security footage. She's going to have to break into their security room and delete it. She needs to get rid of him.

"I saw your bike parked in the driveway yesterday. I live a couple houses down so I sort of followed you home," he says his lips quirking up as though he made his own little joke. Anxiety at the moment is preventing her from doing anything other than wishing for him to go away, though he isn't the worst thing to see first thing in the morning after what happened last night. "I came over to check on you. You ran off last night before I could finish what I was going to say."

"And what was that?" Clary asks, her voice short and curt, hoping she sounds rude to push him away. _Leave, for both our sakes. _ Jace leans down, his smirk seeming to take on a sharp edge and Clary instinctually takes a step back.

"I want to know who hurt you," Jace says, reaching up and brushing away the curls covering the bruised cheek and her most likely bruised chin. She gasps and turns her face away, cringing back and squeezing her eyes shut. She can feel Jace brush his fingers over her cheekbone. Her hand snaps up and she grabs his wrist to fling his hand away and slam the door but he reacts like a crack of lightning. His other hand comes up and closes around her forearm.

She tries to pull away but Jace holds her fast, looking down at her wrist with sympathy and anger. She can see the emotion sparking in his golden eyes as his thumb brushes over the fresh wound. It looks like a bloody bracelet, trails of it stained down her arms, making it look like a gruesome tattoo. Her other hand is still held behind her back but Jace takes his other hand and draws it out from behind her. He holds her wrists in his hands like they could break any second.

"Clary," he breathes, wiping some of the dried blood away with his thumb. "Who did this to you?"

She snatches her wrists back, reaching up pull her hair forward over her cheek. She closes one of the doors but Jace reaches up and flattens a palm against the second one. "I only want to help, Clary. I'll protect you, you just need to tell me who from."

Clary shakes her head, falling back from the door but he loops an arm around her waist, pulling her up to him so her front is pressed against his delicious heat. "Clary," he says almost sternly. Her heart speeds up, making every sensitive part of her body throb. She wonders all of a sudden what it would be like to have Jace caress those parts, to kiss them and lave her skin with his tongue. She shudders at the thought.

He leans down, his nose grazing her neck before she jumps out of her skin at the sound of someone clearing their throat. She pushes Jace away and turns to find Sebastian, half naked with a cup of orange juice standing in the hallway from the kitchen. He stands with a closed expression, orange juice lining his top lip.

"Sebastian. How are you vertical this early?" She asks and she can feel Jace's gaze boring a hole in the back of her neck. His fingers brush aside her hair to find one of the bruises from being thrown to the floor lining her shoulder blade to the base of her neck. She pushes his hand away from her back.

"I only had a few drinks unlike your brother and the rest of the team. Who's he?" Sebastian says, jerking his chin toward Jace's figure standing behind her. His lip curls slightly, as though he's trying to hide it, and he takes another sip of his orange juice.

Clary opens her mouth to respond but Jace cuts her off, stepping through the door. "I'm her project partner. For biology. I just came over to exchange some notes with Clary. I'll see you at school Monday," he says, slipping something into the hand behind her back. The brush of his fingers on hers sends a jolt up through her body as he touches the circular wounds on her wrists from the belt one last time before leaving.

"See you," Clary calls after him, turning to shut the door, completely amazed at the ease with which Jace saved the situation. Sebastian's always been a tattle tale for her brother, so if he sees something that Jonathan wouldn't like, Sebastian is damn sure to tell him, unless Sebastian's the one doing it. Once she turns back she gasps; Sebastian's moved forward to stand only a few inches away from her.

"He really just your project partner?" Sebastian asks, doubt lacing his voice. The heat radiating from his bare chest is sickening as she takes a step back to put some space between her and the team linebacker.

"Yeah, our project is due on Monday," Clary says, stepping around Sebastian and heading toward the kitchen to grab a garbage bag, stuffing the paper in the waistband of her underwear for later inspection. He follows her closely, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. He doesn't say anything as he sets his cup down and grabs a trash bag. Clary doesn't dare look at him as he helps clean up the bottles and trash left by the party. They manage to fill seven trash bags to the brim.

Dumping them outback, Clary's neck prickles as she's hyperaware of Sebastian trailing closely behind her back into the house. Shutting and locking the back door, Clary turns to the linebacker, who stands with his back against the kitchen counter. His naked torso is distractingly pale though not bad looking and she tries her best to look everywhere but at his bareness.

"I have to go nurse my brother's hangover," Clary says shortly. "I take it you won't be needing a baby sitter who's four years your junior?" She crosses her arms over her chest, protecting her braless breasts.

"I don't know," he says with a smirk. "I might still be a little tipsy myself. I may yet need a nurse as well."

Clary scoffs, resisting the urge to curl her lip. "If you can stand there, drinking your juice that you got yourself I think you can take care of yourself," she says, walking past him towards the stairs. She yelps as his hand closes around her upper arm, pulling her to a stop.

She turns to him, finding his face much like that of her father or brother right before they're about to go on an angry tirade, wherein which she is usually the outlet of their anger. She jumps back, tugging her arm from Sebastian's grasp and backing away.

"I—uh… Sorry," he says, frowning before stalking off with his glass of hopefully alcohol free orange juice though Clary wouldn't put it past any of the team to spike their early morning OJ. That is if any of them bothered rolling out of bed before noon.

Clary sighs with exasperation. At least today will be a quiet day, even if her brother is passed out in her bedroom. She slowly stumbles up the stairs, finally letting all her pain and panic poru through her like burning acid, eating away at her. What is Jace going to do? What if he tells someone? Her father will kill her, so will her brother. Not to mention what they will do to Jace. She can't let that happen, but how will she discourage Jace? How can she deny the physical proof of what he saw? He saw the belt marks, the bruise on her face, on her back. You can't just explain that to someone, can you?

She reaches her bedroom to find her brother, somehow awake, propped on his elbows, squinting against the light pouring into the room from her windows. He sees her and immediately snaps at her, pointing to the windows.

"Close those, now," he orders, covering his eyes with a large hand while she half limps over to the thick wall of curtains and draws them across the windows. After the room turns from glaringly bright to softly glowing with the little rays of sunshine leaking in under the curtains, her brother reclines back on the bed, throwing his arm out to her. "Come here."

Biting her lip, careful not to scream at him or let the shame show, she bows her head submissively and shuffled over to the side of her bed Jonathan is taking up. She can see the faint bloodstains on her sheets from her wrists, now crusted and dry.

"Get under the covers," he commands and though Clary knows he can't do anything to her if she disobeys, she will not be risking the chance of his retaliation when he is fully sober. She reluctantly peels back the covers, sliding onto the mattress and in immediately enveloped in Jonathan's suffocating arms. She tries to control the pounding of her heart, the rush of her blood as images of last night and all the other nights she remembers where Jonathan's or her father's arms have wrapped her up and made her defenseless. She hates how they've turned gestures that are supposed to be of love or affection or are supposed to represent safety into menacing, frightening gestures that always dredge up flashbacks.

Only they're not flashbacks, for that would mean she has other memories, happy memories she can turn to in times of distress. They aren't flashbacks because those nightmarish scenes, the constant terror and pain she experiences every time her brother or father get close, when any man or anyone gets close, those feelings are her life. She lives in pain and fear, has lived to deal with it and will not let it crush her, even if she has turned into a submissive little puppet for her father and brother. It is only her sense of self-preservation that keeps her from fighting back anymore.

Her heart is in her throat now and she knows it's an irrational feeling, that Jonathan is in too much pain to do anything, but the steel bars of his corded, muscled arms press in around her, cutting off her air, reminding her of darkness and screams and pain; pain she still feels now. She closes her eyes, burying her face in Jonathan's chest, trying to remember when this gesture, having her brother's arms wrapped around her, had made her feel safe and protected. She tries and tries but Jonathan and Valentine have tainted those memories for her, all her childhood joy and affection has now been injected with the poison of her father and brother's cruelty.

She can't breathe, she can't think, cringing painfully into her brother, trying to soothe herself, pressing against her brother's warmth, struggling to remain calm over something so silly but that warmth turns into acid, burning her skin, her throat. It makes her still bloody wrists throb in pain, the junction between her legs alight with pain and utter discomfort. Her breath catches in her throat and she's clenching her fists against Jonathan's chest, fighting the building scream in her throat, a scream that's voiced itself many a time, always useless.

Jonathan, even in his drunken state seems to notice her stress and sighs. He kisses her forehead softly, lingering, his lips a burning brand on her skin before releasing her from his grasp.

"Why don't you go shower," he says, his voice strained and pain clearly laces his syllables. Clary wants to cry with relief and scream at him for showing care when he caused half the distress in her mind but she only nods shakily and pushes almost frantically away from her brother, running to the bathroom on unsteady legs and slamming the door, though not daring to lock it.

She turns on the shower, ice cold in an effort to blow away the acid crawling under her skin, the painful fire burning away her nerves between her legs. She quickly tears off her shirt and pants, feeling as though they are her brother's fingers, her father's mouth, making her skin crawl. She makes it into the large stone and glass stall, the water falling in cascades from the ceiling but she can do nothing when her knees buckle. She's shaking so badly, not even having realized how much Jace's visit had shaken her until now.

It had dug up her worst possible memories, afraid that Jace might be able to read them on her face, know what her family has done to her. She's terrified he'll tell someone; that he'll go to the police. She isn't so much scared for herself as she is for him. If her father finds out, she'll not only get the beating of her lifetime for even daring to _talk _to a boy, let alone tell him what Valentine had done to her, but as state attorney, he'll ruin Jace's life, _utterly._

She curls her knees into her chest, rocking back and forth, forcing the tears back. She won't cry, she won't cry, she won't cry. She repeats it like a mantra, trying desperately to figure out what she'll do. Maybe she could tell him she accidently got hit with a football? That would explain her bruise on her cheek but what about the one on her back, her wrists? She could say she's clumsy or she accidentally put on bracelets too tightly or they weren't filed down.

No! He'd never believe that. What is she going to do? She can just completely avoid Jace and hide her injuries better. The only reason he saw them was because he came to her house and she wasn't prepared but now, she'll be more careful, put on extra concealer, wear baggy clothes and just avoid Jace altogether. She buries her face in her knees, beginning to hyperventilate. Her chest tightens and her heart jumps to her throat.

She barely hears the stumbling crash, the door to the bathroom slamming open, the stall door reverberating with the sound as it's torn open and she being shaken by strong hands.

"Clary! Clary! Look at me Clarissa! Breathe! Slow deep breaths do you understand? Slow, breathe," Jonthan shouts, his voice fading to a calming mantra as he turns off the shower and pulls her shivering naked body up against his. This time he keeps his legs splayed for her to sit between, his arms loose around her waist so she doesn't feel trapped but he still presses her into his chest, forcing her to listen to his heartbeat, to the rhythm of his breath and match it.

"Slowly, breathe. Deep breathes. You're alright, just breathe," Jonathan repeats, over and over in his hypnotic voice until Clary's finally on the verge of unconsciousness. "You're alright baby sister. You're alright."

Clary feels him shift then a warm compress touches her wrists, wiping away the dried blood and then she's being lifted from the frozen stone tiles, half awake. She hates that her brother goes from tying her up with a belt and raping her while he's drunk to washing her, soothing her and now bandaging her wrists. The soft white cotton of the bandages is cool against her somehow still burning skin and it amazes her that Jonathan has the ability to even see through what must be a killer hang over headache. He carries her back to the bed and gently lays her down, climbing in beside her, careful not to trap her but still close enough to be touching her.

She's too tired now to let the horror of her memories that one touch elicits affect her, instead she lets it wash over her, consume her until her world is nothing but the horrors of her childhood, the taking of her virginity, the relentless beatings and rape by both her father and brother. But thankfully, mercifully, some god takes pity on her and steals away the last of her consciousness so she's falling into bleak empty blackness, her last thought: Thank God it's empty. That way, nothing can hurt her for a while.

The weekend, thankfully, had been uneventful, other than the party. Sebastian didn't appear to have told Jonathan about Jace and Jonathan decided to just keep her in bed, whether he was there or not. While he went out to send off his football buddies the next night, for they'd stayed the entire day, he tied her loosely to her bedposts with one of her scarves. But he spent most of the weekend in bed with her, pleasuring himself and her, seemingly making up for his drunken mistake the night before. Clary let herself fall into the pleasure Jonathan was giving her, blocking out that it was her brother or that she hurt terribly everywhere, especially where Jonathan was touching her, but she didn't say anything, only resigned herself to being tied down and used. Sunday had been no different, Jonathan only letting her up to go make dinner.

Mercifully, he spared her that night, even if he'd shown no mercy during the day, but at least she got her bed to herself. Lying in her big, empty bed, now clean with fresh sheets and rid of all scents of sex and Jonathan, she can't help but dread the next day, strategically planning out the steps she would take in the morning to conceal every hurt and pain and mark, and to avoid Jace, completely if possible. She can't let him get any further, she can't be around him anymore and it broke her heart that it had to be that way. Looking past all the anxiety and nervousness of her secrets being found out, she had actually enjoyed her time with Jace, he'd been kind, made her laugh, bought her breakfast. No one ever bought her breakfast and she certainly hasn't laughed in years.

She eventually got to sleep, only to wake up three hours later to her blaring alarm. She heaved herself painfully slow from her bed and dragged on a baggy sweatshirt over her loose cotton t-shirt, abstaining from the use of a bra, finding the rib constricting band and shoulder straps painful on her already battered body. She tugged on some jeans before going into her bathroom to drape her hair around her face and neck after applying enough concealer to shock a clown but not so much as to draw attention to her face, which was the last thing she wanted to do.

Jonathan was nowhere in sight as she left the house, pulling her motorcycle out from the garage, her leather biker jacket snuggly fit over her sweatshirt. It was nowhere near dawn as Clary started her bike turned on the headlights and headed out the gate toward the school. She makes sure to get there a good thirty minutes early, pulling into the almost abandoned parking lot. Buses won't be here for another ten minutes and people who drive don't bother showing up until five minutes before the bell.

Locking up her bike, she carries her helmet to her locker, throwing her biker jacket in as well before closing it and hurrying to Mr. Starkweather's room. She knocks as she opens the door and Mr. Starkweather looks up with a smile.

"Ah, Clarissa. How may I help you this morning?" He asks kindly and it grates on her nerves.

"Um, Mr. Starkweather. I know that Jace is my project partner, and yes we've finished the project, I have it right here but through the duration of this project I've found him to be a distraction. And what I'm trying to ask politely is that he be moved to another seat, one preferably not beside me," Clary lies, desperate to find any means necessary to keep Jace as far away from her as possible.

Mr. Starkweather sits back in his chair, tenting his fingers and looking concerned. "Well, Clarissa, I'm glad you came to me about this but, and do not think I am ignoring your complaints or disregarding them in any way, but I have not seen, at least in my class, Jace demonstrating any disruptive behavior."

"Sir," Clary says, searching for an excuse. "He, uh, he is nosy and arrogant outside the classroom and I'm not comfortable working with him anymore."

Mr. Starkweather purses his lips, as though he can sense Clary's deceit but he eventually nods. "Alright Clarissa. I'll move him, thank you for bringing you're concerns to me." He turns back to his paperwork.

"Thank you Mr. Starkweather," Clary breathes in relief before retreating to the art room to work on her painting for the next thirty minutes.

Up until eighth period everything was fine for Clary. She huddled in her back corner desk, silently watching as the other students file in and take their seats, watched as Mr. Starkweather pulled Jace aside as he walked into class and gave him a new seat beside one of the high school cheerleaders that have repeatedly gone after her brother, Kaelie Whitewillow. She'd kept her head down every time she saw Jace scanning the room but thankfully the snotty cheerleader kept him distracted most of the time. That brought her a little relief, knowing the most popular girl, and probably most attractive, would keep Jace's attention.

The rest of her classes were uneventful, the other three classes she had with Jace; she managed to produce an excuse for the teacher to move him. As the seventh period bell rang, signaling the beginning of the last period of the day, she could fell the exhaustion and restlessness of the entire student body, waiting to be let loose and go home or party or go screw their whores in a closet somewhere, oops, she means girlfriends.

As she was on her way to her last class, cringing away from every person threatening to brush up against her, she was utterly startled and shot through with fear as someone grabbed the belt loops of her jeans and quickly tugged her into a janitor's closet. She couldn't stop the gentle click of the door closing or the engagement of the deadbolt in the door. Before she knew it she was shaking, shrinking back against the door but strong, gentle hands, pinned her in place, stripping her of her bag and sweatshirt. Her arms immediately fly to her chest, preventing her shirt from being stripped from her and her eyes catch the glint of bright golden ones, glinting at her.

Somehow, Jace turns the light on, soft and dim in the small janitor's closet. Her shirt, a flimsy scrap of fabric, does almost nothing to conceal her bruised arms and chest from Jace's gaze. She makes sure to at least hide her wrists under her arms, unbandaged and adorned with thin lines of dark red scabs, making two sets of double bracelets on her wrists.

Jace's fingers brush over a bruise on her collarbone. "Oh, Clary," he whispers and his hand pushes the shoulder of her shirt away to reveal the big ugly bruise covering her left shoulder. Clary quickly pushes her shirt back up, self-conscious of how ugly she must look, mismatched colors and ugly red lines. She can feel the heat of Jace's body brushing up against hers, so close in the small confines of the closet. Only then does her fear take over.

She's locked in a small closet with a man. The other times that has happened has never been good for her. Her heart rate speeds as images of past encounters speed through her mind, shortening her breath and constricting her throat. She squeezes her eyes shut, turning away from Jace.

"Please," she half sobs. "Just leave me alone."

She flinches as she feels Jace's fingers over her cheekbone, the cut and bruised one. His other hand comes up and cups her face, turning her slowly to face him. Her eyes fly open, her green eyes wild and terrified as they stare up at calm, sad gold ones.

"You need help Clary. Let me help you," he whispers, his thumbs providing for her a cool breeze over her skin, brushing back and forth ever so lightly.

"You can't do anything. It's safer if you just forget about me," she replies miserably, her heart sinking at how wonderful Jace's hands feel on her face. She would have expected the dreaded caged feeling she gets from her brother and father but Jace's hands are purely reassuring, caressing and caring. It's scary to her that he can be this way.

Jace leans closer, causing Clary to back against the door, her spine throbbing and pressed flat against the wood. His golden eyes are intense, burning like molten gold. "I can't let this continue Clary. It's against my nature. Let me help." His eyes flick to her lips then back to her eyes. "You're in so much pain, Clary. I can see it in your eyes and I want to know who hurt you. I can only see a few injuries on you but I suspect there's more. Am I correct?"

His wonderful, warm eyes flick over her body, as though seeing straight through the fabric. The thought makes her shudder. Clary slowly, reluctantly nods, not understanding why she's answering. Jace nods in acknowledgement, leaning down to brush light fingers over her bruised shoulder. Though is not what made her jump, it is when Jace pushes aside her shirt and presses his lips to her swollen, sensitive skin. He kisses her shoulder, lightly softly, tracing his tongue around on edge of the bruise by her collarbone.

Her breath leaves her lungs in a burst, and she leans her head back against the door. She can feel the memories rising up to destroy her feeling, the ecstasy building with every swirl of Jace's tongue. She represses a sob, her hands coming up to twist in Jace's golden hair, his hands braced against the door, careful not to touch her. She's torn between shoving him away and holding him closer.

"Will you tell who made this?" Jace whispers, his voice velvet seduction, his lips moving up her shoulder to her throat, to her bruised cheek.

Clary, trembling, shakes her head, pleasure bursting through her but above it, fear, coloring her vision with the horrors of past lips, past hands, past dark places, all of the her present and future fears. Jace ducks his head back down, pulling on her shirt to deepen the V of the neckline. He kisses down between her abused, unrestrained breasts and Clary suddenly blushes, remembering she didn't put on a bra. He gently licks on long red line over top the swell of her breast and she shivers, halfway to sobbing.

"Please," she cries out softly. "Please stop." She hates the desperation, the fear in her voice as she pushes against Jace, her hands having retreated from his hair to his chest. She's shaking, shaking all over with fear. Her legs are rubbery as her father's furious face flashes before her eyes.

Jace, hearing the fear in her voice, withdraws from her immediately, his golden eyes flashing at her. She recoils, snatching her sweatshirt from the ground and holding it against her as though it will shield her from this man's touch. She can't quite seem to catch her breath as she looks up into Jace's gold eyes. His face is expressionless but his eyes speak volumes as he seems to sort something out.

"Clary," he says her name like a prayer and a plea. "Clary, please tell me what's happened." His British accent is thick, betraying his deep concern. "Please tell I'm wrong and you weren't put through what I think you've been put through." He's begging her now.

And now, Clary can see what he's figured out. With her affliction to his lips on her when other girls have surely melted under the pleasurable assault. No sane, innocent girl recoils from such skilled lips as Jace's. He knows she's been used, by some man thankfully because he can't know that it was her father and brother. She's practically hyperventilating now, tears pouring down her cheeks. Shaking her head frantically, she pulls her sweatshirt over her head, grabbing her bag and reaching for the door but Jace slams it closed just as she manages to unlock and open it.

She tries to melt into the wall, this weekend flashing before her eyes; Jonathan slamming the door, restraining her with his belt, being violated. She can hear her father's shouts ringing in her head, telling her she's worthless. Feel the harsh blows to her body, the ripping and tearing as he raped her. Her whole body is trembling now, tears running hot and unchecked.

What if Jace does that to her? What if that's why he's got her trapped in the closet? She lets out a strangled cry, sinking to the floor of the closet and pressing herself against the door, sobbing. "Please, please just let me go."

She feels Jace sink down next to her, brush a strand of her red hair from her face. "Clary," his voice is soft, talking to a frightened, cornered animal. "I'm not letting you out of this closet until you tell me what happened. I'm not going to hurt you, I only want to help."

Clary's head snaps up, her green eyes flaming and glistening. "You can't help Jace. Stop trying because you're the one who's going to get hurt. Don't you understand? I'm bad news, just stay away from me and you won't get hurt!"

By some miracle or shot of adrenaline she shoots to her feet and tears open the door, bolting down the empty hall, eighth period already in session but she doesn't head toward class, she heads towards the nurse's office. She can't, no matter how badly she wants to, just leave school property. That would cause the school to call her father or brother and she'd be in trouble at home; she's not allowed to be sick. So she slinks into the nurse's office, her face red and tear streaked, adding credibility to her act of a horrible headache. The nurse quickly grabs her an ice pack and tells her to call someone to pick her up.

She picks up the phone, only pretending to call her brother before smiling at the nurse and saying that her brother's out front to pick her up. The nurse waves her off, telling her to feel better and Clary slips out of the nurse's office then takes off at a run towards the parking lot.

She takes off on her bike, ignoring street laws and not getting in trouble because the police are terrified to issue even a speeding ticket to the district attorney's daughter. She's home in record time, locking up her bike in the garage and barreling into the house. She nearly screams as she bumps into her father.

She backs up against the door, composing herself in an instant, a survival tactic she'd been forced to develop. She scrapes her hair back nervously, straightening out her backpack. She keeps her eyes down towards the floor, quickly wiping tears from her face.

"Father, I didn't realize you'd be home. I thought you were on a business trip. Did you want lunch?" Clary asks, thankful her voice is steady.

"No, Clarissa, I already ate. And I had to come home for a few hours, I'll be leaving here in a moment. Why are you home early?" His voice is business like, calm, not angry like he usually he is when he gets home.

"I tried to finish off school, father, but I got a nasty headache and asked to be sent home. It's nothing, I'm fine but is there anything I can do for you before you leave?"

She nearly yelps as his fingers, not harsh but not gentle, grip her chin and turn her face up to his. She watches his face, cool, analytical, distantly fatherly, like the father he used to be can be seen buried under his uncaring, abusive, grieving self that has grown over her old wonderful father.

"Would you like to tell me what happened, Clarissa?" His voice is still removed.

His silvery blond hair is styled in his usual lawyer style. His immaculate suit doesn't have a crease in it but his eyebrows are creased as his black eyes, like Jonathan's, stare down at her, removed.

"I only hit my head, father. I got a headache, the nurse sent me home, I'm fine now," she says calmly, refusing to pull away from her father, knowing it will only enrage him despite his calm façade.

He nods his head, releasing her chin. "The house is already clean. Go up to bed and rest until Jonathan gets home. Go on," he says, turning away from her and plunging back into the house with his daughter staring after him. She slowly makes her way to her room, careful not to trip on the stairs, she can feel her body burning and aching, and not all of it is from pain. What Jace left behind is starting to scare her, she shouldn't be feeling like this towards someone, _a man _of all things when all the men in her life have caused her pain and suffering, why should Jace be any different?

She slowly closes her door, staring at her bed in amazement. She'll actually get to sleep now, Jonathan's classes don't end until seven. Her shoulders slump, body aching, burning, throbbing and her bag drops to the floor, her shoes are off, then her jacket, her pants until she's in her underwear and sweatshirt and she falls into bed, out before her head even hits the pillow.

Clary wakes to fingers stroking the back of her neck. She resists the sudden urge to sigh and arch her back like a cat. Rolling over, she finds Jonathan lying on her bed, watching her as she slept. She frowns and glances over at the clock. Her eyes widen as she sees it's eight o'clock. She actually got a solid six hours of sleep.

"Sleep well, little sister?" Jonathan asks, leaning over to brush his lips against the side of her neck. She quells the need to slap him away, not wanting to elicit any anger from her seemingly calm brother. She tries to move but finds everything sore, sore and bruised. She moans in pain as she swings her legs out of bed, nodding her head to her brother, still groggy and slow.

She attempts to stand but her legs hurt so much she can't find the strength to get up. She plops back on the bed, covering her face with her hands, her legs dangling off the bed. She feels her brother loom up over her, but not really caring she just lies still, trying to absorb the pain pulsing through her. Jonathan's lips brush her nose before his weight disappears from the bed.

Minutes later, her brother was scooping her from the bed, cradling her against his naked body. Clary nearly groans in exasperation. She doesn't want to do this, not now, she's too tired, too stressed, too desperate to just end it all. She's done with life, if things like this continue happening, and Clary doesn't see an ending in sight, she doesn't want to continue living in this torture. But she can't do anything as her brother strips her and lowers her into a tub of scalding hot water.

She moans aloud as the delicious heat soaks into her aching muscles. The water moves from her breasts to her shoulders as her brother steps into the sunken bathtub. Jonathan pulled her close to him, her back facing him and Clary still hasn't bothered to open her eyes, feeling sealed shut. His calloused, tapered fingers pressed into her muscles, the tight, sore knots of muscle, right outside of her bruises. The pleasure of it nearly outweighed the pain, nearly.

It felt good yes, and by the time her brother was done she felt so much better, but her body was hypersensitive as well as her mind and everything _hurt_. She turned off the feeling of pain, withdrawing into herself as her brother's hands wandered over her body, causing pain and pleasure. She was barely aware of his hands, his body the pleasure. Her mind just wasn't in it, her mind was focused elsewhere, on Jace. He'd seen her bruises, he'd seen them and seemed set on finding out what happened to her.

Jace wanted to help her. How was he supposed to hurt her when her abusive father was the district attorney, capable of ruining someone's life with a word and the scratch of pen on paper? When her brother the all-star football player bent on possession? How was he supposed to help and not get hurt? Was it even possible for her to be rescued? She's been living this life for the past six years.

She was scared for Jace's safety, not hers, even though she would get the punishment of her life were Jonathan or Valentine to find out she was being helped. She was scared to involve him. Yet he seemed so bent on helping her, on saving her, how could she not accept the offer, the command, of letting Jace help?

And there was something else, something sweet and delicious that pooled in her stomach and heart every time she thinks about Jace. It's not like she didn't know what pleasure was, or an orgasm, or sex. She knew the fiery burn of sexual pleasure overriding a body but this warmth was different. It was like having a warm blanket wrapped around her while she sat in front of a fire, drinking hot chocolate, listening to her favorite music. It was a feeling she hadn't known since her mother died, and she all but forgot the name of it.

She was vaguely aware of being in bed now, dried, but still naked, Jonathan looming over his as his mouth touched her everywhere, his hands, his eyes. She shut it out, not wanting to be present when her brother committed a crime against human morals, once again. How is she to focus on this vile act every single time for perhaps the rest of her life? How is she to live with her only remaining family and remain sane? Remain safe?

She feels the invasion, a dull sensation of violation that manages to shake her to her core in her fragile state of mind. She still doesn't fight, unable to conjure the will or reason to battle against her brother when he would just to it again. And again. And again. Hopelessness swells within her. How did her life come to this? Her childhood had been marvelous and beautiful for twelve years, right up until her mother was shot.

Her heart twists painfully in her chest, so much more painful than Jonathan's current assault, so much more painful than his grasping hands, his hard, invasive body. Maybe she just won't get up after he's done, maybe she'll just lie here and waste away. Maybe if she becomes sickly and pale, Valentine and Jonathan will leave her alone, let her go.

Jonathan doesn't notice her withdrawal, doesn't notice how she isn't struggling. She's completely motionless, drowning in bleakness. When it finally ends, she screams out, much more in anguish than pleasure. Her heart is pounding harshly in her chest, threatening to jump out, she hopes it does, hopes it just gives out and ends this, all of it.

She feels terrible now. She's finally given up. She's never felt so depressed or bleak, not even after her mother's death and she thinks herself weak. She couldn't endure this, couldn't endure for herself or her mother. She just can't take it anymore. Jonathan finished with her, lying over her as he kissed up her skin. Clary can't remember the rest of the night but the next thing she knew, she was lying in bed the next morning, staring at the ceiling, her alarm blaring its warning. Five minutes past, ten, thirty, an hour. School's started, she thinks, still lying motionless in bed. First period ends and she's still in bed, second, third, fourth, Jonathan comes in to see why she's still here, finding her bike in the drive.

He checks her temperature, finds it ten degrees over and leaves her with a bowl of canned soup and some pills before going to class. Clary doesn't say anything, just stares at the ceiling, not wanting to move. The soup goes cold, school ends and she still hasn't moved. Jonathan has practice tonight, but gives Clary no peace, knowing he'll still be back and use her again. Getting in his time before Valentine gets back, logging hours like a video game.

She doesn't even flinch when the doorbell rings, musical and charming but to Clary it sounds empty, pointless. Why would someone even want to come ring this doorbell? Jonathan's at practice, Valentine's away and any solicitors don't even dare step on their property because of Valentine's job. They can't even get across the lawn because of the security gate, the guard, the fence. The doorbell rings again, more insistent this time, quick, short, and multiple rings. Clary frowns, her first movement all day. How is someone ringing the doorbell? Jonathan didn't leave the gate open did he? And who would want to come here in the first place?

Clary drags herself from bed, pulling her thick quilt around her and slipping on the soft slippers by her bed. The doorbell rings a few more times, short, insistent notes that demand she move faster. She limps down the stairs, scowling at the door as she unlocks the extensive security system. She's all out glaring by the time she opens the door but is shocked when she's practically assaulted. Roughly grabbed and pulled into a strangling hug. She can't help but melt at the passion seeping from Jace as he holds her like she's the most important thing in the world to him.

He holds her close murmuring nonsense that she only later realizes was, "Thank God you're alive. You're alive. I was so worried." She lays her head on his broad shoulders, closing her eyes and just savoring the feel of his strong arms holding her, no ulterior motive, no harm meant, just concern.

"Hi Jace," she says wistfully, against her own volition, his name coming out like a prayer. She savors the feel and taste of it, wrapping herself up in the sound.

"Clary, where have you been? You left yesterday and didn't come to school this morning. Are you alright? Did the person who's hurting you do something?" Jace's voice sounds marvelous, Clary thinks, burrowing her nose into the snow dotted winter jacket covering Jace's torso and shoulders.

Clary nods her head, not really thinking about what she's doing, just that in this moment, she'll give Jace anything he wants. "It wasn't as bad as it usually is," she murmured, nuzzling his collarbone.

"Usually is? Clary, this happens on a daily basis?" He asks and Clary can't figure out why he sounds so worried. A winter breeze, ran through the door, piercing through her quilt. She shivers and Jace steps forward, scooping her up and closing the door behind him. "Clary is anyone home with you?"

Clary shakes her head, burrowing into the brilliant warmth of Jace, not really acknowledging the warnings going off in her head. Jace felt really nice, and he was so strong, scooping her up without so much heavy breathing.

"Where's your room?" He asks softly, his mouth next to her ear. She grazes her nose under his chin like a cat, liking the semi-rough feel of stubble on his jaw.

"Up the stairs, second door on the right," she murmurs, feeling like she could go to sleep in his arms. Safe from all threats, like her life doesn't exist except for him and she loves the oblivion. The sole feeling of Jace wrapped around her.

She curls into Jace, nearly falling asleep in the comfort of his arms. She hasn't felt this well in years. She can't even feel her extensive injuries and bruises, like they don't exist. He carries her up to her room, lays her on the bed and she's immediately snapped from her pleasant dream reality. Her eyes snap open and she jumps from bed, all her pain slamming into her immediately. Jace is standing by her bed, watching her with wide golden eyes. Eyes that were focused not on her face but her body… her naked body that she had failed to clothe last night or this morning. She'd been covered by the blanket when she answered the door but now it was left on the bed.

She leaps for the blanket, covering herself up quickly, covering her nakedness and her bruised, ugly, battered body. She remembers that she doesn't have make-up on either, and her bruised, bloody, still healing cheek is exposed to him. She can't do anything about it now, he's seen, he's seen what's been done to her. Tears welled in her eyes.

"What do want Jace?" She says softly, her voice breaking. She can feel her knees trembling, threatening to give out. He's in her room and she's naked. What's he going to do to her? All the other times males have set foot in her room, it's been to harm her. She's visibly shaking like a leaf.

"I told you yesterday and I'm not leaving this house until you let me help you. Clary, you need to go to a hospital. There isn't a spot on your body not mangled and bruised," Jace says, stepping forward but Clary steps back, her breath coming shakily, rattling in her lungs. Is he going ot be exactly like her brother and father?

Intellectually, she knew Jace was nothing like her father and brother, but she's been so traumatized by the actions of her family that the irrational fear rises up to almost choke her.

"No," Clary says. "No, I can't go to hospital. My father…" her voice trails off at thinking what would happen if she was in the hospital. What is he going to do if he finds out Jace was here? "God, Jace, you need to go. You need to leave. What time is it?" She glanced at the clock and found she still had a good four hours till Jonathan got home from practice.

"No, I'm not. At least let me take care of the worst of it. Who did that to you?" Jace stepped closer, only inches from her and she could feel the heat coming off him, delicious, comforting heat. Her tension melted a little but didn't drain away completely, she was still trembling. He needs to leave. What if Jonathan comes home early?

"I—I can't, Jace. Jace, please, please leave," Clary says, voice vibrating.

Jace steps up to her, his body brushing hers. Clary tries to beg him with her eyes but his hands come up to cup her face. She tries to flinch away but Jace holds her firmly, gently.

"I don't want to leave and I'm not going to, not when I know you're in danger," he whispers, fingers brushing her cheekbones so lightly they feel like feathers.

"Jace," Clary begins, trying to explain how much danger he's placing himself in just by being in her house.

"Clary. It's time you trust someone, I'm not going to hurt you. I promise you that I will never hurt you. I could never hurt someone as extraordinary and brave and strong as you but it's time you let someone help you shoulder your pain. Let me help you," he says, his voice seduction itself as he leans down.

Clary has no clue what to do except go rigid as his lips connect with hers. Jace's arms slip beneath her blanket to hold her gently to him, avoiding all her bruises as though he'd memorized each one and where it lay just from his brief glance. Clary expected harshness, unrelenting, cold lips, like her brother or father, but Jace's lips are warm, welcoming, enticing as his tongue flicks over her lips, coaxing them open. He floods her with warmth, pouring all his kindness and determination to help her into the kiss, as well as adoration. He admires her for bearing her burden alone.

She's so terrified of sharing it with someone else, she has no desire to see anyone hurt. But her Jace, she has no clue when he became hers, maybe when he barged into her house and carried her up the stairs like a knight or when he brought her breakfast, completely drowns out every horror until she's floating in the pure bliss of his kiss. Her hands bunch in the front of his shirt, pulling her towards him, desperate not to lose the sanctuary his mouth is providing. She feels like nothing can touch her.

She sighs into his mouth, sparks dancing along her body. His light fingers brush over her bare, hypersensitive skin. She shivers as he draws her lower lip into his mouth, tugging gently. Jace steals another breath from her before pulling away, beautifully flushed. His golden blond hair is tousled and wonderfully adorable.

"Will you tell me now?" His voice low and husky.

It's a compulsion. Jace has cast a spell over her and his beautiful, sensual voice demands an answer; he's taken all her will to resist.

"My brother," Clary breathes, amazed to find how easily she's selling her soul, even if it is to an angel. The devil and his right hand owned it first and will not be pleased to find it gone from their possession. "My father. It started after my mother died, he blamed me. I blame myself. He punishes me because of it and he misses Mom so much…" Her voice trails off.

Jace is silent for a moment and Clary doesn't dare to look him in the eye, sure she'll find disgust and contempt so she pulls away from him, wrapping the blanket around her like a shield. But he doesn't let her get far. Jace catches her around the waist and enfolds her in his embrace, a fierce yet gentle hold, as though saying everything will be alright.

"Oh Clary, Clary. How long? How long have you had to live with this, with those people who claim to be your family? How could they treat you like that?" He says, pressing his mouth to her ear, her back pressed up against him. Clary starts to tremble with the beginnings of horrible wracking sobs she can feel building in her gut as she remembers the day her mother died, the funeral, the first night Jonathan forced himself on her, the first night Valentine followed.

"It was my fault," Clary cries, all but collapsing as her knees give out but Jace supports her, gathering her small, fragile frame to his body. "It's my fault Mom's dead! My father hates me for it, my brother too. I've taken my punishment for four years, Jace. I can't take anymore, and I can't let you get hurt because I'm too weak to shoulder it myself. You shouldn't have come here," Clary sobs into his shoulder, clutching his shirt. "You shouldn't have been nice to me, you shouldn't have kissed me. I'm sorry you met me. You need to leave! I'm not going to take any more of this but I don't want you stepping in the middle. You're just going to get hurt! Please leave! No needs me and no one wants me, so just go. Before you get hurt."

Despite Clary's words, she's clutching Jace like a lifeline, hands balled in his shirt, face buried against his chest. His shirt is soaked with her tears but Clary can't stop, she can't stop holding onto him or sobbing, her bruised and battered heart finally breaking over what she'd done, what she's had to endure. What right does she have to be complaining to Jace? When she essentially killed her mother? How is she sobbing in his arms when his very presence in her house is putting him in danger?

"Clary, my sweet, brave, little Clary. I'm not going anywhere."


	4. Chapter 4

Hey, I hope every one had Happy Holidays whereever in the world you are. Or if you had no holidays, I hope you had a good December. Anyway, this is going to be the last chapter for a while, I have ridiculous exams coming up as I think I've mentioned before. And I need this week to review and study, prepare for the brain killers. I hope you enjoy this chapter but I have to say it is shorter than the others but it has a lot of content. And let's get something straight, rape and domestic violence are inexcusable acts, period end of story. Sorry for this message, those of you who want to read but: If you know someone or are that someone, who is getting abused or raped or has been, there are people out there to help you, like our heroic Jace. Even if they're not as perceptive as Jace, there is someone, multiple someone's out there to help. I in no way condone what Valentine and Jonathan are dong in this story, that is just how I chose to write it. That said, enjoy the chapter.

* * *

Clary's eyes flew open, her heart pounding. She shoved away from Jace, only now realizing what was happening. She'd just told him her secret, after six years of suffering and keeping it to herself. She'd just put Jace in danger, put herself in danger by lying her sin bare before Jace, before a _man_. He'd cornered her in her room, naked, and she'd been so terrified, she just spilled it all. She was afraid Jace would hurt her or judge her, her mind in an uproar of pure panic.

"You need to leave," she whispered softly, her voice shaking as she clutched the blanket around her bare body. "I can't think Jace, you need to leave."

Jace bowed slightly, stepping toward her desk. "I want you to call me if anything happens again, Clary." He was scribbling something on one of the discarded sketches crumpled on her desk.

He approached her, her eyes flicking nervously around the room, looking anywhere but at Jace. She couldn't stop trembling, even as Jace leaned down and brushed a kiss over her forehead. "Apologies, if I scared you. I was only concerned." His English accent had leaked into his beautifully mesmerizing voice, betraying his sincerity but Clary still couldn't stop shaking.

He left without another word, giving Clary the peace of mind she was so desperately searching for. She dragged herself back over to the bed, falling down on top of the sheets after she tore up the piece of paper with his number on it. Her brother would kill her if he found it. She heard the door close with a heavy thud after a while. She curled in on herself, her mind raging at her, demanding why she told Jace what's been done to her after she'd kept it all to herself for six years.

She didn't know how long she was curled up on the bed but she eventually pulled herself up and over to her closet. She didn't bother putting a bra on just a baggy shirt and shorts, no panties, and dragged herself downstairs. She found her brother sitting at the table, poring over legal documents spread over the table. Before she could back out of the room, Jonathan saw her out of the corner of his eye.

"Come here, little sister," he said, his voice exhausted. Clary groaned inwardly, dreading him touching her. Jace's touch was a breath of fresh air, washing away her dull, dirty feeling but whenever Jonathan or Valentine touched her, she felt like a communal toy to be passed around and used.

At her hesitation Jonathan held out his hand, beckoning her. "I'm not in the mood to fight you on this. Just come here."

She heard the faint snap in her brother's voice and it penetrated the odd glaze covering her mind, bringing stark realization of how ugly this could get if she continued to defy him. She padded quietly over to him, trying not to draw any more attention to herself and immediately wishing she'd put on underwear.

"So," he said, drawling the word and somehow pooling dread in her stomach. "Who was here earlier today?"

Her mind went blank, completely, utterly blank. She tried to speak, opened her mouth but no sound came out, nothing, not even a squeak. After a beat, Clary regained her speech, quickly forming a plausible answer that wouldn't get her or Jace killed.

"A class mate came by to drop off school work for me," Clary said, knowing her voice sounded small and guilty to her but her voice was always small and timid around her brother and father, never wanting to aggravate them.

Jonathan still didn't look up from his work, scribbling furiously across a printed document.

"No one's ever dropped off school work for you before."

"We have a big project this week and someone was nice enough to keep me updated," Clary said without falter. She purposely kept the gender of said friend to herself because if Jonathan found out it was a male, he'd be sure to keep Clary as far away from him as possible.

Thankfully, Jonathan didn't seem too concerned about it at the moment, consumed in his homework. He beckoned her closer and she reluctantly stepped up. He pulled her across his lap without really looking, which scared her half to death, the strength he had without putting any effort into it. She resisted the shudder of fear building in her gut. His steel corded arms caged her in as he went back to his homework. She sat rigidly on his lap, leaning against his chest as he continued to scribble illegibly over his work. But now he seemed more relaxed with her seated on his lap.

She hated how Jonathan used her and abused her, treated her like nothing more than property but the sister in her, not yet dead who still held affection for her brother, was happy that she could relieve some of his stress and tension. If she closed her eyes now, she could almost imagine back before her mother died, when she'd been a little girl and Jonathan had been holding her in his lap, at a family picnic, laughing and tickling her.

She missed those times, when nothing was looming over her, her body didn't hurt constantly and she wasn't assaulted by both of her remaining family members on a nightly basis. She hadn't recalled her memories of before her mother died in a long time. She pressed her forehead into her brother's neck, remembering one of the nights Jonathan had crawled into her bed.

She'd hugged him back and found his shirt wet, she hadn't known it was blood soaked. He'd pulled her close and kissed her on the head. He'd clung to her like she was the only light left in his world and she was glad she could be that for him, make him happy, but she loathed how he took the light from her. Stole it really, just like he stole her innocence. He'd seemed satisfied as he'd locked her bedroom door, holding a long leather belt. As he'd sauntered over to her that dreadful night.

She'd been sitting at her desk, asked, "What do you need Jonny?"

He'd kneeled in front of her, sixteen years old to her mere twelve, smiled at her with a deceptively sweet smile. He'd put his hands on her knees lovingly.

"I need something very special from you Clare Bear," he said, bowing his head like he was fighting himself on something. His hands had slid up her legs, lifting her off the desk chair where she'd been seated. He sat her down on the bed, crouching down in front of her as he slipped her boots off. She'd frowned at him as he laid her back on the bed, hovering over her petite frame.

"Jonny?" She'd asked, starting to squirm and panic at her brother's odd behavior. There was a weird look in his eye that she didn't recognize.

"Hush, little sister, and just relax for me," he'd whispered, his lips pressing softly against her stomach as he'd slid up her shirt.

She'd sat up trying to push him away but her small body didn't even measure up to the football star's corded arms pressing her back into the bed. "Jonathan?" She'd said her voice quiet and scared. "Jonathan, what are you doing?"

This time he was on her, wrists bound in a belt, pinned above her head. She was scared then, scared of her brother, her sweet loving brother. She couldn't really process what had happened, what was happening right then as her brother slowly pulled the jeans off her. She was scared, confused, asking what he was doing and trying to pull away but he held her still.

She was screaming now, even knowing her father wasn't home, her grief still raw and painful from her mother's death and now her brother was doing this to her. Tears ran down her cheeks as her panties came off. Jonathan was quiet, gentle, trying to soothe her but she couldn't see past the pain as he ripped through her innocence.

She was blind to anything but pain that entire first time, all she felt were hard hands, bruising force. It hurt so much, pain blazed up her body, all over her, in her heart, where betrayal blazed the brightest. Afterward, she lay in bed, a strip of her silk sheet torn and tied around her mouth as a gag, her wrists bound tightly in his belt. Her jeans and underwear lay discarded on the floor, her shirt pushed up, bra unlatched. Tears fell down her cheeks, her temples, her cries muffled.

Jonathan lay passed out in the bed next to her, on his stomach. But he twitched, shifting and his face turned toward her. But it wasn't Jonathan's face, it was Valentine's, his mouth curled into a sneer.

"You're a whore Clarissa. You killed your mother!"

She woke up screaming her lungs out, still seated in Jonathan's lap at the dinner table. Her brother had fallen asleep too but her screams woke him instantly, almost falling from the chair, as she scrambled from his lap, bolting up the stairs as tears ran down her face. She slammed the door shut, locking it herself for the first time in years without anyone but her brother or father in the house, and made for the bathroom, locking that door as well. Before turning on the shower scolding hot.

Tears poured down her face and she felt dirty, _disgusting. _She could feel her brother's and her father's hands all over her. She scrubbed herself down with soap so hard her skin turned red. She couldn't get the dirt off, couldn't get their hands off of her, her mother's blood. It was her fault, but violation on the level her family had dealt her was amoral and unacceptable. But she couldn't take it back, she couldn't bring back her mother, she couldn't get back her virginity. Her _brother _stole that from her, and the chance of ever feeling clean again. Her father had embedded a thick layer of filth in her skin that she would never be able to get out and most of her remaining affection that she was desperately trying to nurture was slowly dying out with each passing day.

She couldn't stop crying, whether from the nightmare or the pain of reopening her wounds, worsening her bruises as she scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. Her wobbly knees gave out from under her, the sting as her knees hit the floor not even registering as she practically scraped off her skin, trying to get the feel of Jonathan, Valentine and even Jace off her skin. She didn't want to be touched, ever again, by anyone.

Her brother eventually found her, kneeling on the shower floor, still scrubbing at her raw, bleeding skin. He'd used the master key to get in probably, the one Valentine kept stored in his office, that or had knocked down the doors. He'd had to wrench the loofa away from her, covered in blood before turning off the shower. The rest of the night he sat with her on the floor of the bathroom, drying her off, bandaging as many bloody abrasions as he could after he'd cleaned them.

He'd whispered to her as he patched her up but she hadn't said a word, unconscious from the sheer panic his touch had brought. Jonathan didn't let her go to school the next day, or the next, keeping her locked in her room, not that she'd bothered to do anything other than go to the bathroom. She didn't let Jonathan touch her, and amazingly he respected that and gave her space. On the third day, Friday, Clary decided to go to school and get all her late work.

She got up slowly, her body ultrasensitive, stinging everywhere, throbbing other places and just all together sore. She didn't bother making an effort at clothes, her skin too sensitive for anything other than a baggy sweatshirt and sweat pants. She made sure to color her face with blush and rouge and makeup, hiding any evidence of anything other than a normal life. She pulled out her school bag and keys, picking out her thick, furred winter boots before walking out to her motorcycle.

She didn't plan on staying the entire day. Just long enough to get work and get out. The sun was well out, already second period but Clary didn't care. She tugged on her helmet and drove out of the driveway.

She ditched her bike in an open spot, walking into school just as the bell rang. Students poured into the hallways and Clary cursed that she hadn't timed it better. She slowly made it to her counselor's office, where Jonathan had called and told them to collect her work for pickup. Unfortunately, she didn't know Jace was an aid for the counselor's until she stepped into the office. She tried to keep to the walls, slowly making her way to the administrative assistant's desk.

A warm hand caught hers but she immediately snatched it back, turning to see the perpetrator and finding Jace. He had been smiling a moment ago but when he'd caught sight of the terrified look in her eyes, the smile had died and in its place a frown, his brows creasing as he read her face, his eyes darting over her features like he could read the events of the past few days just by looking at her.

She shied away, horrified by the feel of his skin against hers, so much like Jonathan's, so much like her father's. She didn't know if she'd be able to stand another beating, another rape. To her horror, she felt tears welling in her eyes but she shoved them down.

"Jace," she said. She'd meant to sound curt, mean to try and scare him off but it'd come out a relieved whisper. "What do you want?"

"Clary, what happened," he said quietly, stepping close but Clary immediately stepped back, refusing to let a man anywhere near her. Especially a stranger, she barely knew Jace, didn't know what he was capable of and she'd known her family her entire life, look what they were doing to her. Imagine what a stranger could do.

"I'm here to get my homework. My brother called and asked that it be collected and brought here," Clary said, taking another big step back, away from the suddenly towering man.

Jace pursed his lips before jerking his head toward the back hallway leading to the offices. "C'mon. It's back here."

Clary followed a few steps behind, waiting in the doorway while he retrieved her homework. It was a thin stack of papers in Jace's hand but he pulled it back as she reached out to take it from him.

"I need to know what happened Clary. Which one was it? Why haven't you fought back? Gone to the police, tried to stop it?"

Anger flared in her chest as she ripped the papers from Jace's hand, stuffing them in her bag, and restrained herself from slapping him. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the counselor's office, Jace hot on her tail. Outside, in the shade of an alcove Clary spun on him.

"Fight back?" She practically shouted. "You seriously think I haven't tried fighting back? I tried that Jace! And all it got me was a few broken ribs and virginity stolen. Don't you think I would've gone to the police if they could do something? My father is the DA. He could stage a fake case so fast you'd be dizzy. My father had my best friend run out of the state because he found out and tried to help me! I can't do anything about it short of taking my own life—"

Jace's gaze turned feral then but his voice remained cool and steady. "You wouldn't."

"Don't you think I would?" Clary hissed, incredulous. "I've suffered this shit for six years Jace. Six years I've been in hell and anyone who's tried to help has been bitten in the ass. So just leave me _alone_!"

Clary snapped her last words viciously, turning to walk away, feeling the shame and horror and anger boiling inside her. How could she have ever let him close? She barely knew him, and he was a man! She told him what had been done to her and who's done it. She should just end it all, her life couldn't get any worse.

She was almost to her bike when Jace cut her off, standing in front of her with his arms held out, making a point of not touching her. Damn him for being so perceptive! Noticing her needs and attending to them. Her heart gave a funny lurch before she looked up into his golden eyes. Her scowl was gone, her face now pleading and frightened and she hated how vulnerable she must've look. And all because of Jace's kind eyes and sympathetic smile.

"At least let me give you my number Clary, I know you didn't take it the last time I wrote it down" he said pulling out a scrap of paper. "And use it the next time this happens," he said, his eyes moving to her cheek and over her body like he could remember every single mark and bruise from when he saw her.

To Clary's astonishment, he leaned down and kissed her forehead gently, slipping the paper into her hand. His touch so light that she didn't flinch. With that he left her to get on her cycle and go back home, realizing how futile it was to try and argue with her to stay.

Clary shook her head, starting up her motorcycle before pulling out of the parking lot and slipping through traffic to get home. She pulled into her garage, turning off her bike before entering Jace's number into her phone. She stuffed the slip of paper into her bra before climbing her front stairs to the house. She gasped as she came face to face with Jonathan, dominating the entryway with his hulking form.

She didn't get a chance to speak as he surged forward, slamming her against the door and fusing his mouth to hers. She had to resist the urge to groan as pain swept through her body, making everything ache all over again. Jonathan ripped her bag away from her, throwing it away to some corner of the foyer for later retrieval. She had no choice but to allow him to strip her down in the entryway. He seemed feral, and when Jonathan was feral she could only submit and let him do what he wanted so she didn't get hurt more than she needed to.

Buck naked, Clary's hands were pinned to the door as Jonathan unzipped his jeans. A moan was ripped from her and he slid home, spreading fire and pain and pleasure. Jonathan's arms slid tightly around her waist, crushing her to his body as his hips gyrated. She buried her face in the junction between his neck and shoulder, trying desperately not to cry out or scream. She didn't know how long it lasted but eventually her brother climaxed, fingers digging into her hips, mouth wandering over her breast and chest.

As Jonathan slid out of her she said, "Happy to see me?"

It was the only thing she could say without screaming at him. She wanted to scream for all the years of abuse, all the horrible torments he and her father have put her through. Nevertheless, she kept silent, letting Jonathan lavish attention on her aching body. Her bruises throbbed, her skin in general, and the small cut on her cheek reopened, dripping small droplets of blood down her cheek. To her disgust, Jonathan leaned forward to lick the blood from her skin, like a sick vampire.

"Overjoyed really," he replied, hand slipping down between her thighs. She bit her lip, turning her face from her brother. She couldn't help her stomach rolling, Jonathan's hands roaming over the scarred, bruised skin.

"Glad I could provide," she whispered. "I need to go shower now your seed is dripping down my thighs."

"Mm," he hummed, rubbing his nose up and down her throat. "I'll be happy to help with that."

Seemingly set in his decision, he scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder and this time she had to groan low with pain. He carried her up the stairs to her bathroom and she fell completely limp on his shoulder, succumbing to the pain. He set her down on the shower bench, turning on the hot water.

She blacked out at one point or another when his hands touched her body. She couldn't handle the pain at that moment, not when all she could think about was Jace. Jace who gave her his number that was in her bra. The piece of paper now lying on the floor of the entryway beside her bag. Her eyes flew open to find herself in bed, Jonathan beside her. He had her head pillowed on his bicep, his other arm draped over her waist.

She whimpered and turned away from Jonathan's unconscious form. She felt choked by tears as she dragged herself out of bed. She was skilled at sneaking out of bed without notice or waking her brother or father. That was what she did now.

She pulled on her bathrobe over a lose shirt and a pair of panties, choking back tears. She was desperate; by the looks of the moon in the sky, it had been a few hours since she'd blacked out. Her clothes and bag were still in the front entryway, along with the condemning evidence of Jace's number and whatever else he'd scribbled on it. She booked it downstairs, blocking out the pain flaring through her body but she froze halfway down the stairs.

Her father was crouched over her pile of clothes and bag. Her heart nearly stopped in her chest as he began sifting through her underthings.

"Father," Clary said, desperate to draw his attention away from her bra. His hand was hovering over her bra.

Valentine didn't jump, just turned his head slightly to gaze at her.

"Clarissa, would you like to tell me why your clothing is littering my doorway?"

"Jonathan… he wanted me when he got home," she stuttered, pulling her robe tighter around her, wishing she'd put on some actual clothes when she saw his eyes travel greedily over her body. He still hadn't pulled back from her clothes and she was struggling to not bolt over and rip the clothes out from under his hand.

He turned back to the pile of clothes and lifted her bra off the ground. Just as the piece of paper fluttered to the ground Clary had turned on her heel and raced back upstairs. She reached the landing only to crash into the hard chest of her brother.

Her heart was pounding as his arms slid around her waist lovingly, nuzzling her neck. She began to struggle weakly, her strength leaving her as she heard her father call up the stairs, his voice cold and calm.

"Clarissa come down here."

Jonathan's head rose from her neck, arms tightening fractionally, hearing the agitation in her father's voice. She looked up into his black eyes, hoping desperately that he'd take pity on her. Tears were streaming down her face now.

"Please Jonathan," she whispered, shaking her head. "Please just let me go back to my room. Please."

"Clarissa!" Her father shouted from down the stairs.

She cringed into his chest, hands bunching into fists. She kept shaking her head, sobs wracking her body. "Please, Jonathan, I beg of you. I'll do anything, please just let me go."

She screamed bloody murder as Jonathan picked her up and started down the stairs with her. She began kicking wildly all the way down the stairs but Jonathan only held her tighter as they reached the bottom of the stairs. She was turned around, her brother's arms wrapped firmly around her waist.

She was all out sobbing now as her father looked on her with his piercing, razor gaze. She practically clawed at Jonathan's forearms, fighting to get out of his grasp. In her father's hand was the folded slip of paper that had been shoved into her bra. Her head fell back against her brother's bare chest. She was still crying; she raised her hand to muffle it now as she watched her father unfold the paper and read it aloud.

"Call me when it happens again, J." He then proceeded to read out Jace's phone number. Jonathan's arms wrenched tight around her waist, threatening to crush her hips.

"Care to tell me who J is Clarissa?"

She tried to break her brother's grip one more time but he only began to crush her bones until she cried out in pain.

"He's just a student from school," Clary whimpered, trying desperately to pry her brother's arms from around her.

"Would you like to share how a boy's note got in your bra? And what you told him?" Valentine's voice was still calm and collected but that was always the telltale for his rage. He never started out yelling when he was sober. He was always quiet and calm before all of the rougher beatings.

"I didn't tell him anything," she sobbed, shaking her head. "I didn't, I swear."

"You know Clarissa, I don't believe you," he said, flicking the note away and stepping forward towards where she was held captive by her brother. He stopped directly in front of her, towering over her just like her brother, making her feel as though either one could crush her beneath their foot.

He grabbed a handful of hair and yanked her head back so she was forced to look into his black eyes. "I didn't, please," she whispered.

He released her hair as he back handed her, causing blood to spill over her cheek as his wedding ring, which he still wore, caught her skin and tore it open. "Stop lying to me Clarissa," his voice finally rising in anger. Her tears stung as they fell in her open laceration. Valentine dug his nails into her chin to force her to look at him.

"I can see you'll need a little persuading," he said, his voice hard and low. He looked up at his son. "Bring her."

He turned and stalked to the family room. Jonathan waited a moment before leaning down to bite out in her ear. "Who is he Clarissa? You know you're mine, you're not allowed to befriend any other male. Who is he?" He shook her violently until she yelped in pain.

Anger and desperation rose through her tears. "If you really want to know who's giving me lusty looks, you should look to your lug head of a running back," she snapped, fear driving her up the wall and taking her sanity as well as her sense of self-preservation with it. Jonathan growled, low and intimidating in her ear before picking her up like a rag doll and hauling her into the family room where Valentine was crouched by the fireplace, stoking a blazing fire with the poker.

"Lay her down," Valentine said without looking up. Clary's eyes widened and she slammed her head back against her brother's nose. He groaned quietly, releasing her for a moment. She tried to bolt but Jonathan only caught her up again and laid her down on the floor beside the fireplace. She screamed and kicked out, knowing what her father was going to do. He'd never done this before, never gone this far.

Jonathan kept her pinned down, at least her upper half. He had her head in his lap, her wrists held pinned behind her head. She looked up at her brother, pleading with him silently for him to let her go as Valentine stood from the fireplace, the red hot poker in his hand.

"Please Jonathan, I'll do anything, anything for you just don't let him do this to me please. I'm only yours," she pleaded. "I won't ever look at another man, just please don't let him do this, please."

He leaned down over her, his nose brushing hers. "You are mine Clarissa, and I expect your loyalty. And after this you will do anything I want but you need a lesson in obedience," he whispered before pressing his lips roughly to hers, a stark possession. Clary felt her father pin her legs down as he sat on her thighs. Her brother released her lips, looking up to watch what his father was going to do.

She looked down at her father.

The poker still glowed red in his hand as he undid the belt securing her robe. As he pushed up her shirt he spoke.

"You seem to need a physical reminder of who owns you Clarissa," he said, tucking her shirt under her breasts, baring her stomach. "Would like to tell us who wrote the note and what you told him before I start?"

She tried to kick her father off but he was too heavy and her brother's nails dug into her wrists. "Please, he's just a classmate. I didn't tell him anything," she sobbed. Even as she lay there, with the threat of both her brother and her father looming over her, she wouldn't put Jace in danger, she wouldn't put him through any pain or suffering.

"Now, see the thing is Clarissa, I still don't believe you," he said, lowering the poker to her stomach. Her body began to tremble as she felt the heat of the poker over her skin without it even touching her skin.

"No!" She sobbed. "He only saw the bruise on my cheek, I told him I was hit with a door. That's all!"

"Come now, Clarissa. I taught you better than that, you can lie better. Being hit with a door is not enough to warrant the note shoved into your bra like a hooker," he said, as though scolding his naughty little three year old daughter.

"He doesn't know anything, please," she sobbed, turning her face into her brother's lap as the poker got closer and closer to her skin.

"Make her look Jonathan, she needs to see who it is branding her, who owns her," her father snarled and Jonathan's fingers immediately closed around her chin and forced her to look at the poker being pressed into her skin.

Her scream was muffled as Jonathan bent down to kiss her, drowning out the sound. The pain was blinding, nauseating as he burned a long diagonal line along her hip bone. She could feel her flesh burning off as the poker sank a good few centimeters into her skin, branding the long line into her skin forever. He lifted the poker and turned it slightly before pressing it down on the same hip again, creating a V on her right hip.

There was no blood as he took the poker away from her hip, just two long, deep, red angry lines making up her father's initial. She couldn't stop sobbing, tears clogging her eyes and throat as she watched her father switch positions with her brother. He took up the poker, thrusting it into the fire to heat it again before bringing it down beside the V. Her father kissed her as Jonathan proceeded to make another mark, turning the V into an M, for Morgenstern.

Jonathan didn't stop there as he threw the poker in front of the fire and bent down to lick her raw burns. The contact only made the pain worse, arching her back off the tile floor as his teeth travelled lower to the waistband of her panties. He worked them off with his teeth, throwing her robe open all the way before ducking his head down between her legs, her father's mouth still dominating hers.

Clary couldn't see through the red haze of pain radiating from her hip, it was a high ringing in her ears, drowning out her brother and father's argument over who got to do what to her. She could only feel the unimaginable pain searing into her hip, branding her, marking her as unclean and off limits.

Her brother and father switched positions throughout the night, and they went all night, stopping only when Jonathan had to go play in his football game. Valentine stayed behind and had four hours to himself with her, to beat her, rape her and abuse her. Clary, though, could barely see as all the activity only made the burns worse. She wanted to press her hands against it but all through her family's sick marathon, her hands were pinned down one way or another. At one point she was tied to the table leg with one of their belts, forced to be privy to both their attentions at once.

It was the weekend so she didn't have school, which meant that her father and brother kept her tethered to the couch all weekend, only letting her loose to have her lay on the floor, floating in pain, until one of them brought water so at least she didn't die. She didn't think she could've stomached food anyway. They never let her out of their sight when she was untethered, and when she was left alone, she was tied to the couch or table or something, forcing her to lie on the floor. She didn't sleep.

They used her like a sex toy as well but she managed to block out most of it. When her brother would lie on the floor beside her, watching a football game, and would idly play with her. His hand would brush the burn every few minutes or so, deliberately reminding her what they could do to her. They both bruised her, cut her but the brand, the burn happened only the one time.

When Monday rolled around, they shoved pain meds down her throat against her will. She didn't want anything they gave her, especially if it was to save their own asses. They threw her into clothes and made her do her makeup so no sign of their abuse would show. She could do nothing to conceal the deep gash in her cheek so they told her to wear her hair down to hide it as well as the hickeys and bruises along her neck.

Jonathan drove her to school and walked her into school, acting like a normal brother, kissing her on her bruised cheek deliberately, whispering in her ear, "Behave or it will only get worse." The threat drove shivers down her spine, but they'd made her take so much pain medication that she was slightly sedated as well as unable to feel any of her bruises, cuts or her burn. He left without another word. They'd only made her go to school because people would get suspicious if she missed anymore school, only gave her pain meds to make sure she didn't walk funny or exhibit any signs of their abuse.

She walked to her first class slowly, everything still swimming despite there being no pain. She saw everyone as a threat, everyone would expose her, tear her down, especially the men. They'd all betrayed her, even when they were trying to help. Jace was only helping but look how her weekend had turned out.

She sat down slowly in biology, thankful her seat was in the back of the classroom so no one could watch her. Thankfully, Mr. Starkweather had moved Jace so she was allowed to work in peace as she took notes. She didn't really see him, struggling as it was to focus on the work. She managed to slip through school without anyone talking to her, keeping her mind blank except for her work. She glanced Jace in the hall once or twice but she blended back into the crowd, avoiding all confrontation with him.

Just as last period got out, she found Jace waiting for her outside her classroom. He didn't touch her, just followed her until the hall was empty enough that Jace placed a gentle hand on her shoulder to stop her. She flinched away immediately, withdrawing from him. She's already been touched enough without her consent, she didn't want him anywhere near her or anymore touching than what she couldn't prevent.

"Don't touch me," she hissed. "Just leave me alone."

She turned on her heel and headed for the door, knowing her brother was coming to pick her up.

"Clary!" Jace called after her. She spun around, tears in her eyes, noticing her pain meds were beginning to wear off. Jace's eyes flitted to her cheek and he gently brushed back her hair. He prused his lips. "What happened last weekend? What did they do to you?"

"They only reminded me not to let anyone close to me, now go away!"

She turned again, shoving her way out the door to find her brother leaning against the hood of his Porsche, his arms crossed, his eyes dark and brooding as he watched her cross the lot. He opened the passenger door for her and she slid in, watching Jace as he calmly exited to the building, wisely keeping his gaze from drifting to her.

"I hope I don't find any more notes on you Clarissa," Jonathan said as he pulled onto the street. "Because I plan to strip you down and put you right back where you were this weekend." He didn't take his eyes off the road, his voice low and menacing, even as he threaded sick seduction into his threat. She shuddered, dreading having to be stripped down naked before her brother and left tied up and vulnerable for when her father came home.

Jonathan pulled into the garage, checking with the security gate before escorting her up to the house. He locked the door behind him before turning to her. He pointed to the family room.

"Go, now," he snapped, following silently. He stopped her by the couch, tugging off her bag. Everything was starting to hurt again, especially her untreated burn. Jonathan slipped his hands beneath her coat, pulling it off her and proceeded to pat her down, ignoring her yelps of pain as he hit her bruises and burn. He unbuttoned her jeans and tugged those off as well, exposing the lower portion of her brand. He left her in her panties and shirt, stripping her bra without removing her shirt.

"Oh where to begin?" Jonathan asked himself, his hands wandering over her body, her legs, causing little sparks of pain to jump through her veins. "Get on your knees," he commanded, hands on her shoulders shoving her down to the floor. She was numb, her mind racing to block out what happened next, the pain rising in a tidal wave.

He cupped her head, pressing her towards him as he unzipped his jeans. She completely blocked out the next hour or however long he used her. She ended up on her back, on the floor, being driven into like she was nothing more than an object.

At one point Jonathan left for a little bit, leaving her untied. He'd replaced her panties on her body, her shirt pushed up as he'd taken joy in soothing as well as aggravating the bruises and cuts on her body, reveling in the mewling noises she made when he soothed, the yelps of pain when he aggravated. She heard the doorbell ring in the distance and she reacted on instinct.

She always answered the door, not one time since her mother died has her brother or father answered the door. She hauled herself up, pulling on her robe, not bothering to tie it as everything swam through her vision. She stumbled out to the entryway, leaning against the base of the stair railings.

She shook her head as she saw her brother at the door; she stumbled up to him only to find Jace, standing on her doorstep, which only confused her more. He was speaking to her brother with a smile on his face, holding a notebook under his arm. Jonathan's arm wrapped around her waist like a loving brother, discreetly tying her robe together.

"Here she is," Jonathan said, none of his earlier threat or seduction in his voice. "I thought you were going to shower?"

"It's warming up," Clary said dismissively, glaring at Jace. "Who are you?" She asked, praying to her God that Jace would understand and go along. She wished he hadn't shown up in the first place, but he had to stick his nose where it didn't belong.

"I'm in your English class, you left your notebook there today. It took me a bit to find you in the student directory but I did. Since exams are coming up, I thought you would need this," he said, handing her a black notebook that she had never seen before. This wasn't her English notebook but she wouldn't let Jonathan know that.

"Thanks, I guess I'll see you in class tomorrow," Clary said dazedly, the pain starting to take over her senses. She saw how Jace's gaze lingered over her, especially the cut on her cheek and how she favored her left side. She slipped out of her brother's arms, listening to Jace as he continued talking to Jonathan about football and the latest game. She took the opportunity to move up to her room, flipping through the notebook as she struggled up the stairs. She came upon on note written in neat cursive.

_Clary, I'm getting you out of this. I know it may look hopeless but I have my ways. You have no reason to trust me, but I won't hurt you. I could never hurt you, not when you smile at me with your small, quiet quirk of the lips when you think no one's looking. Or when your bright emerald eyes sparkle at me. Now I know who and what's hurt you, I won't let it go on any longer. No one deserves to be treated as you have. I know you think yourself imperfect and unclean but, my sweet, I don't think anyone is as beautiful as you, all your scars are a testament to your strength. Hang on. Here's my address, I want you to use if you need anything, same with my number I gave you. Please, sweetheart, just survive a little longer and I'll be your knight in shining armor. Trust me. –Jace._

She smiled slightly, useless hope fluttering in her stomach. Maybe after all these years Jace was what she needed to save her but he'd caused last weekend. How could she trust him? She barely knew him. He was a man as well. She bit her lip, could she take another betrayal like that? If she did put her faith in Jace, would he pull through? Or fail her like the rest of the men in her life? No, she couldn't take this any longer, she needed to trust Jace and hope that he would save her when she couldn't save herself.

She hid the notebook under her mattress so Jonathan wouldn't find it, stumbling to her bathroom just as her brother walked in. He walked over to her, Jace having apparently put him in a good mood. He was smiling as he gently took her shoulders and pressed his lips against hers. He backed her up to the bed, bending her back until he shoved the robe off her body. He pulled down her underwear and the rest of the night was a blur.

Jonathan took her gently that time, tenderly, at least until Valentine got home. Jonathan had dragged her back downstairs, taking her on the couch. Valentine came in and told Jonathan to tie her down and by that time, she'd passed out from the building pain, no relief from the fire and raw skin still sitting on her hip. She woke up cradled against her brother on her bed, her father lying on the other side. She had to resist the urge to hurl.

It was an hour until her alarm went off, at which point Valentine swore and left Jonathan to force the pain meds down her throat again and drive her to school. He dropped her off, no doubt watching her walk away. Inside the building, Jace was waiting. He struck quickly, muffling her shout of surprise with a hand over her mouth until she saw who he was.

"You're coming home with me, right now, okay? If you read my note, I hope you can find it in you to trust me," he said quietly. She couldn't really do anything other than comply when Jonathan gave her a sedative as well as pain killers. He liked to keep her calm and willing when she came home. She was surprised he didn't drug her more often.

"Okay," she whispered before following him out of the school to his Aston. She'd made up her mind about Jace anyway. She was tired of living as a slave, beaten and abused on a daily basis. She wouldn't go one more day in that godforsaken house or be abused by her _family. _ She was twelve for crying out loud when her mother died, when her brother of all people ripped her virginity and innocence from her, something she can never get back, never get off her skin or her soul. And now they've branded her for having a piece of paper with a boy's name in her possession.

She'd happily burn in hell for her sins, just as long as her brother and father came too.


	5. Chapter 5

Hello again! I finished my exams! And this chapter for you. I feel it was beautifully written and that you'll enjoy it. Hopefully you will. Oh and apologies if you read the last chapter of Last Hope. I left that on a nasty little cliff hanger didn't I? Now I know how it feels to be an author with a God complex. It's very satisfying. (Mwhahaha)

* * *

The manor driveway, much like Clary's, was round and circled a manicured lawn, now covered in snow. Jace parked his Aston Martin in the garage beside the main house, turning off his engine to look over at the girl who'd stolen his attention, and maybe something more. She hadn't said a word other than her quiet agreement to bring her to his home. He'd been away in England for a while, staying behind after the Lightwoods, his adoptive family, had left to establish themselves in New York.

Now his mother, Maryse, was a distinguished cardiologist and his father, Robert, the chief of police. They'd done well while Jace was traveling. Jace stepped out of his car, moving to Clary's side to open the door. He'd suspected Clary's abuse since that morning she had tutored him, not that he really needed it; he only wanted to unravel the compelling secrets the red-haired beauty kept locked away behind her vibrant green eyes. Not many women flinched from his touch, not to sound arrogant, but people in general didn't flinch from the touch of another.

Having the police chief as a father was useful when one needed to do a little snooping. Jace had asked his father to look into Clary's background; he'd told Robert that Jace suspected a case of domestic violence was taking place. Jace, when he'd gone over a week ago, last Tuesday, had planted cameras all around Clary's house to get video evidence of the violence being committed. Of course, being the police chief's son, he knew to use the video in court he would need a warrant. Luckily, his father had great influence in the department and got the cameras and warrant without preamble.

He opened Clary's door to find her asleep, head lilting to the side as her curtain of red hair spilled over her shoulder. Her breathing was shallow but from the marks he'd seen marring her body, it would've hurt to breathe any other way; it was of no immediate concern. He'd seen her yesterday, passing glances in the hallway had told him she was subdued, heavily. Typically she was so expressive even when she tried to remain claim and straight faced but she'd had a glazed look in her eye which made him wonder what her family did to her. That afternoon, when he'd shown up on her doorstep with the pretense of her leaving her journal, he'd seen her favoring her left side, her cheek open and actively bleeding.

Anger coiled through his gut at the thought of Clary's own family abusing her. It was barbaric and criminal, amoral and entirely unacceptable. He gently lifted Clary from the car, her light weight almost nothing in his arms, only concerning Jace further. He cradled her to his chest like the treasure she was as he walked into his home, closing the door with his foot.

He'd already arranged with his father to have a squad car periodically patrol this street, mostly to ensure Clary was safe here with him while his father was at work for a few more hours. As well as to keep an eye on Clary's house, only a few kilometers from his own. Robert told Jace he wouldn't act until he saw the evidence of the abuse once he found out Jace was pitting himself against one of the most well respected families in the state, not to mention the DA and their home team's all-star quarterback. Jace said he understood and that he'd have proof by tonight.

Lo and behold, his poor abused Clary lay, most likely sedated, in his arms. He'd have his mother look at her once she got home. Jace dreaded to have to look at the marks and bruises and cuts littering Clary's skin not that it made her any less beautiful to him, only caused him pain of his own to see what she'd gone through.

Taking Clary up the stairs to his room was a careful task, having to maneuver all his little brother's toys and his sister's magazines and other feminine items that should not have left her bathroom. Nevertheless, he arrived in his top story loft without incident, gently placing Clary on his bed. She still hadn't made a move or a sound other than a soft groan when he'd lifted her from his Aston. He was deliberating over letting her sleep or stripping her to see what damage could be bandaged and treated.

He settled for waiting until his father got home and Clary woke up to survey the damage. She most likely did not get enough sleep as it was. He left her, only for a moment, to go back downstairs and retrieve Clary's bag from his car. It was weighed down with books and notebooks; he cringed to think she carried this around on her bruised shoulders every day. Once again, he found Clary hadn't moved an inch, raising his suspicion of her sedation.

He set her bag beside his desk before kneeling beside his bed. He brushed the red locks falling into her face aside, revealing a network of pale freckles. Her face was slack, beautiful still even in sleep, but her cheek, the cut one, was raised slightly and angry red. He knew it would be even more discolored once he wiped away the foundation he knew she was hiding it with.

He'd seen the bruises littering her skin in the janitor's closet and last Tuesday. The large, solid black blotch covering her shoulder was horrendous and most likely horribly painful. He adored her for her strength, being able to survive this long without aid. He gradually rolled up the sleeves of her sweatshirt to find no clean scars interlocking the others that indicated self-harm. He loved her even more for it but what she must go through on a daily basis—he couldn't breathe with the possibilities.

He'd seen so many bruises on her, so many scars. The horror she would've had to face in order to claim those kinds of scars tore at his insides. Someone as kind and beautiful and young as Clary shouldn't be put through such horrifying acts, especially from her family, who were supposed to love and care for her, not be her personal hell.

Jace would be her haven from now on; she was free to come and go as she pleased and he would never ever lay a violent hand on her. He'll only ever show her love and tender care, patience and comfort above all else. He feathered a kiss across her forehead before standing and sliding into bed with her, atop the covers, her small body drawn into the shelter of his. Much to his surprise, her eyes fluttered open and focused softly on him.

She smiled shyly up at him, not daring to move. "Hi Jace," she whispered, her voice soft as a summer breeze.

"Hey, sweetheart. You're safe now, I won't let anything happen to you while your asleep," he said kindly, brushing his fingers over her wild hair. She looked so vulnerable, so damaged that his heart hurt as she looked slowly around the room. Her eyes were defeated though her body lay motionless.

"They'll find me Jace, they always find me," she cried softly, burying her face in his shirt.

"Not this time _mon Coeur, _I won't let them ever hurt you again. I swear." He pressed a delicate kiss to the crown of her head, afraid she was bruised there as well but she only sighed weakly.

"Everything hurts so much Jace, _everything_."

He knew what she meant. She still had to be aching with grief and pain and betrayal in her heart, not to mention her body. He gathered her close, his touch light, almost nonexistent as he cradled her close.

"I know sweetheart, I'll get you something for the pain." As he began to leave, she clutched at his shirt.

"No," she breathed, shaking her head slowly to clear a fog. "My brother, he already shoved pain killers and sedatives down my throat. I don't want anymore, please."

Hatred seethed in his darkest depths at her words. Her own brother sedated her to cover his own ass. How sick, but he held that anger inside him, knowing his Clary would only fear the intense, harsh emotions, even if they were for defending her.

"It's alright, you don't have to do anything you don't want to now."

"That sounds so nice," she said thinly, already drifting back down under the black cover of sleep.

"Yes, it does, and it's yours now. You have your freedom," he spoke as he drew up a blanket over her, watching as she curled into him, hugging the blanket close.

"You might not be so bad after all," she said before finally succumbing to the sedatives still lacing her blood.

Jace held her for the remaining hours until his father got home, finding Jace lulling Clary's now restless sleep in his bedroom.

"This is her?" Robert asked, stalking across the room, still in full police uniform, gun and stun gun strapped to his hip.

"Yes, Dad, this is her. Her brother had her sedated this morning and yesterday. I don't know what they did to her to prompt the sedation but she was clearly in pain yesterday afternoon when I found her alone with her brother, in her bathrobe, favoring her left side," Jace explained, carefully extracting himself from the arm Clary had wrapped around his waist. The moment Jace left her arms, her eyes shot open, immediately focusing on his father in full police uniform.

Her eyes widened in panic as she shot off the bed but stumbled, clutching her side, continuing racing for the door with surprising speed. Jace frowned as he went to pursue her. He found her collapsed on the stairwell landing, curled in on herself, still holding her side as she sobbed. She was mumbling to herself.

As he approached slowly, clear that Clary was a flight risk, her words became clearer. "They found me, I knew they would. Jace," she sobbed as she caught sight of him. "They always send to the police to find me, they're here to take me away again. Please don't let them take me back."

His father had followed him out of his room and now stood at the top of the stairs as Jace crouched down and picked her up. She cried out, trying to thrash but Jace calmed her with a few words before explaining.

"He's my father, the chief of police. He's going to help get you your freedom permanently. He's not going to take you back to those barbarians okay. It's okay, stop struggling before you hurt yourself," he soothed, placing her back on his bed. She was still clutching her side and only then did he notice the growing blood stain.

"Dad, get in here," Jace called, soothing Clary with light kisses to her forehead and soft hands over her face, forcing her gaze to lock onto his. His father came in and watched in horror as Jace slowly managed to pry Clary's hands from her hip. "Clary, I'm going to lift your sweatshirt now, just to see where the blood is coming from."

That didn't seem to calm her in the least but he managed to get her sweatshirt from over her hip. What he saw curdled disgust and utter, black rage. Blood seeped from cracked, charred skin around her hip. Four lines made up a crude mark settled over her right hip, giving light to why she'd been favoring her left side. The skin in the mark was red, angry, burnt, black in the very center while the skin around was swollen and inflamed, a nasty pinkish color.

"Call Mom, not an ambulance that will attract her family's attention. They're probably already searching for her; her brother's been picking her up and dropping her off at school," Jace said dazedly as he looked up to see Clary look away, shame and pain coloring her eyes and cheeks.

His father left immediately to call his wife, leaving Jace to console his darling red head. He cupped her face gently, turning her to look into his eyes.

"Sweetheart, what happened," he murmured. "What did they do to you?"

She began shaking her head, trying to pull out of his grasp. He let her go, knowing forcing her would only frighten her more.

"I can't Jace, they'll find me again. They'll be even angrier than last weekend. I can't go through that again. I can't tell you, I already got in trouble, I'm still in trouble. They don't let me out of their sight," she said, beginning to sound frantic. "I need to get home before they tie me up in the basement." She shuddered. "I need to go before they get too angry, I can't take another branding, I can't."

Sobbing ricocheted through his room as Clary struggled meekly under his gentle but firm hands.

"No, you don't. They're never going to touch you again, do you understand? You're safe, you're never going back," he promised, watching as the burn, the brand she'd called it, seemed to throb.

"They're going to find me Jace," she cried, her voice haunted. "When they do they're going to do so much worse than tying me to the couch—"

Her voice trailed off and she turned away from him. He left briefly to grab a cold, soaked towel from his bathroom to drape over her burn until his mother arrived. He sat beside her on the bed, pushing back her thick hair falling in her eyes. He wanted to know more about what her family did to her but it seemed too fresh in her mind to prod at.

He carefully gathered her body close, keeping the cool towel on the burn, as he wrapped her in his arms. She clung to him, like a drowning woman finding the last life preserver. She cried herself unconscious. Jace had to replace the cool towel multiple times, the heat traveling from her body to his hand was searing. By the time his mother made it home, Clary was tucked into Jace's body, both arms pinned against her chest as though to make herself as small as possible. The bleeding of her burn had stopped.

"Jace," Maryse said as she kneeled beside the bed, still in her doctor's scrubs, when she lifted the towel from Clary's side she gasped in horror. "What happened to her?"

"From what I've gathered, her brother and father tied her to a couch and branded her," Jace deadpanned, careful to keep his anger under control.

"Branded her? With what?"

"I don't know."

Jace slowly coaxed Clary awake, kissing her forehead and whispering in her ear. She moaned. Not one of pleasure but one of complete, unadulterated pain. She didn't open her eyes, wanting to drown in the delicious warmth and comfort of Jace's body and never come out again.

"Clary, I'm sorry sweetheart, but I need you to wake up. My mother's a doctor, she's here to help," Jace said against her ear.

She shook her head. "No, no doctors. He'll get into the records, he'll find me," she groaned.

"This is off record, we're not in a hospital, you're safe in my home. You're safe," Jace reassured, lovingly tucking strands of hair behind her ear until her eyes fluttered open. His heart soared when she smiled up at him weakly but the smile was gone when she saw Maryse.

"Who is she?" Clary asked and Jace was astonished when she drew closer to Jace instead of retreating like she'd done when she saw his father.

"My mother, she's the best doctor I know of. She's going to help heal you. My father will help to put your brother and father behind bars for good, I promise."

"The last time a man promised me something I ended up handcuffed to his bed," she said, still staring at his mother, slightly horrified. She'd said it absently but he heard the mistrust and wariness in her voice.

"Those men that you knew don't deserve to be called human let alone lay eyes on you. I won't break my promise Clary. Trust me. I'm only trying to help," Jace said, pouring his devotion and adoration of this small, abused woman into his voice. He'd cherish her for the rest of his natural days if she'd let him. He could barely stand watching as she winced with every single movement, the too old soul reflected in her eyes that had seen too much for someone so young.

Clary reluctantly allowed Jace to help her to her feet, leaning on him when Maryse directed them to the bathroom where she'd laid out medical supplies, everything from severe burn treatment to Band-Aids for paper cuts. Clary seemed to melt into Jace's side, trying desperately to disappear.

"I don't want to show you—everything is so ugly, Jace," she whispered, her hollow gaze traveling over all the medical supplies as Maryse waited patiently.

Jace turned, cautiously wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her against the warmth of his body. She was so beautiful to him; he didn't care about her outer appearance, he admired the bravery, strength and courage inside her.

"Clary, you could never be ugly. Did you even read my note? It's your strength and courage shining through that I love. Your body is a testament to that endurance, a badge of honor that you shouldn't have had to earn in the first place but it only makes you all the better. You're a sweet and loving girl when I would have expected someone who's gone through what you have to shut everyone out and be bitter, mean. You are the complete opposite. You shouldn't have the marks littering your body, but that only makes you more beautiful to me. Please. We're going to make you better," Jace confessed, wanting to see that little spark of happiness he'd seen in the janitor's closet when he kissed her.

Clary watched his eyes for a long time, as though she was unraveling his soul and examining what made him up. She nodded then, slowly, pulling her sweatshirt over her head daintily to reveal her blood soaked shirt. She took that off as well, wrapping her arms around her chest to try and hide from the shame she must have been feeling. He stepped forward and cupped her face, tilting her chin up so he could look at her.

"You look beautiful Clary," he said gently before brushing a kiss over her lips. She let out a wistful sigh before Jace stepped aside so his mother could see the extent of Clary's injuries.

Maryse's eyes widened. "Oh my," she said quietly before beckoning Clary forward. Clary looked toward Jace for reassurance and he placed an arm around her waist to gently guide her forward after he'd smiled encouragingly at her.

Maryse worked quickly, evaluating Clary's wounds while bandaging the open lacerations and examining the big blotches of bruises dotting her skin. She took detailed pictures of each wound before bandaging it, knowing her husband would need the evidence to build a strong case against the DA. Clary only seemed more shamed by this but Jace continued whispering reassurance and praise in her ear. She cringed as Maryse had to wipe away her foundation and makeup to place a butterfly bandage over the deep cut on her cheek. Maryse was as gentle and careful as possible as she asked Clary to turn her head from side to side so she could get good photos of the bruise and cut covering her cheek.

Jace noticed the black patch covering her shoulder had faded since the last time he saw it but she was covered in many more than before. He saw the twin bloody bracelets on her wrists when he'd gone over on Saturday to check on her. Maryse wrapped both wrists in white bandages, making it look as though Clary wore white bangles. Clary's hand was continuously locked in his, squeezing hard when Maryse bandaged a particularly nasty cut. When Maryse went to take care of Clary's… feminine region, telling her that it was necessary if she was a victim of rape, Clary let out a small sob and turned into Jace, hiding her face against his shoulder. Clary jumped as Maryse applied a salve, with gloves on, down there once she saw the extent of damage. Jace turned away, burying his face in Clary's fiery hair, barely able to leash his rage each time Clary jolted in pain.

When his mother prepared to heal her burn, Clary practically crawled into his lap, holding on fiercely as Maryse changed her gloves and withdrew a scalpel of some sort from the pile of medical supplies beside her. By that time, Clary was a patch work of white gauze and healing ointments, but her burn still stood out as the most prominent and painful of all her ailments. She pressed against Jace where they both sat on a cushioned bench beside his sink. She stayed that way as Maryse scraped off the dead, blackened skin as gently as possible—collecting them in a vial—from around the burn, but Clary fisted her hand in his shirt, face still turned into his shoulder, the occasional quiet whimper coming her mouth as Maryse winced in sympathetic pain for the girl as she removed the blackened skin.

Maryse applied an ointment that took the heat away as well as the inflammation before placing layers of gauze and bandages over the wound, wrapping a strip of cloth around her hips to keep it in place. Clary was clearly feeling much better with the bandages and creams and ointments but Jace still had to carry her back to bed, as she was utterly exhausted, both emotionally and physically.

Maryse had had to strip Clary completely naked to get to all the wounds. Jace tugged one of his shirts from his drawers once he'd laid Clary down on the bed. He let Clary slip it on herself and not wanting to put any pressure on her… lower regions, Jace didn't give her any sweatpants. She didn't seem to mind when she fell asleep as Jace changed.

His mother left medication and the variety of creams, ointments and salves she'd applied to Clary with a list of instructions as well as setting up a baby camera of sorts, should Jace leave her alone and she were to have a panic attack or needed help. She would of course be checking on Clary periodically, even with the camera. Jace left his room, and Clary, in darkness to go downstairs. He found his brothers in front of the television, watching last night's football game and his father in the kitchen, speaking with Maryse who was handing him the camera she'd used to document Clary's injuries.

His father caught sight of him as he came into the kitchen. He called Jace over with a wave of his hand. He braced himself on the counter, beginning to fidget. Jace had come down to get Clary a glass of water for when she woke up; what he didn't want was Clary to wake up alone, without him to reassure her.

Robert turned to him. "Valentine Morgenstern went to the police station today and tried to file a missing persons report for Clarissa Morgenstern. He was denied of course, a person has to be missing for forty eight hours to count as missing, but he's already searching for his daughter. I wouldn't be surprised if he's already coerced half my department to at least do a twenty mile perimeter sweep to see if she crops up. No one aside from you, Maryse and I know she's here and I'd like to keep it that way."

"No problem," Jace said, pushing away from the counter and collecting the glass of water he'd originally come down to procure. Back upstairs, he found his door ajar, his lights switched on. He frowned and pushed his door open to find his sister, Isabelle, standing over Clary, who was still passed out under his sheets.

She turned on him with a disgusted look. "Is that why you skipped school today?" She asked petulantly, pointing at Clary. "To bang another chick?"

Anger threaded through his stomach but he pushed it down, summoning a half-way pleasant voice. "Clary is not a 'that' Isabelle. And I didn't _bang_ her as you so crudely put it, I'm helping her." He walked over to his bedside table, setting the glass down.

"Helping her out of her clothes, more like it," Isabelle retorted.

Jace let out a low growl of impatience and anger. "Isabelle, watch your tone."

"Oh come on Jace, all you need to do is say thanks for not telling Mom and Dad, and next time why don't you take your toy home—"

"Enough," Jace snapped, startling Isabelle when Jace rarely ever snapped or yelled at her. "Clary has been through enough without you degrading her like you did at the football game. She's a victim of domestic violence and rape, and she's hiding from her family so I would appreciate it if you would keep your mouth shut and not tell all your girlfriends about it. Now leave, before you wake Clary up with more of your insults."

Jace turned from his sister, knowing he would pay for his outburst later but at the moment didn't care, not where Clary was involved.

"Jace, I—I'm sorry. I didn't know," Isabelle stuttered, wringing her hands together as she stepped back from the bed.

"Well that's typical of you, speaking before you think," Jace retorted. Clary was starting to fidget in her sleep, either suffering from nightmares or she heard their argument.

"I've known her for years, ever since we moved here. I didn't know, I saw her every day in the hall, in English. How did she come to school?" Isabelle had grown quiet, her voice timid and shy, careful.

"Because she's strong and brave, now leave before she wakes up," Jace said, pulling up his desk chair beside the bed and sitting.

He heard Isabelle leave quickly and silently, the door shutting behind her. Jace loved his sister and he knew he shouldn't have scolded her like that, but sometimes Isabelle went overboard, steps over a line. He'd apologize later. Clary stirred, her head turning back and forth before she opened her eyes, finding Jace with her emerald gaze immediately.

He was relieved when she smiled at him, a drowsy, sexy smile that had his heart lurching in his chest. Her perfect lips curved slightly and oh, so enticingly. He wanted to lean over and capture them, but he wasn't sure how Clary might react.

"Afternoon," Jace greeted. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well, surprisingly, but I'm still tired," she murmured, playing with Jace's fingers of the hand he'd set on the bed. That nervous little action drew his attention to her light, skilled fingers. Fingers that had been abused and unable to create the art he knew she loved, because of her family.

"By that, I'm not surprised. You still need to catch up on a lot of sleep to heal. Is anything hurting? Do you want some pain medication?" He inquired, rising slowly from his chair, stopping mid step when she shook her head.

"No, I'm still numb from when your mom took care of… everything." Clary's soft voice fell like a gliding bird from the sky, her eyes following the bird down to the ground, the corners of her mouth pantomiming her eyes. He could see her hands clenching beneath the covers, held against her chest. He could literally see her drawing herself inward, where he'd be unable to reach her.

Slowly, he sunk down by the bed, reaching over to gingery take Clary's clenched hand. He threaded his fingers through her and brought her knuckles to his lips.

"You don't have to talk about it Clary, but know that I'm here for you," he spoke gently, running his thumb over his knuckles, not wanting to look up and see a look of utter pain or rejection or fear in her eyes. Clary didn't say anything in return but uncurled his fingers from hers and pressed them to her chest, holding his hand over her heart.

"Thank you, Jace," Clary whispered.

Her sincere, sweet voice drew his eyes to her and he saw genuine relief there. She was watching him with those tiger eyes, clear, focused and deadly when provoked, but if rubbed the right way, melted beneath his fingers like a kitten. He just had to nurture his kitten back to health and reintroduce trust into her environment.

He was surprised when she spoke.

"Do—do you think you could get under the covers with me? The numbing agents are making me really cold and only body heat helps," Clary said, and he caught the images running through her eyes, the forced contact, the times she'd had to numb herself to the point of no feeling because everything hurt too much, the times her rapists didn't care she was in pain.

"Of course, but only if you're comfortable with it, and what I'm wearing," he spoke gently, smiling sympathetically at her. He only then realized how hard she was clutching his hand to her chest, how much she was shivering. The shivers could have been caused by the numbing agents but he suspected it was something worse; a scar that ran much deeper than the visible ones she would bear even with his mother's treatments.

He was surprised she was even allowing him anywhere near her, with what's happened to her and who's done it to her but she's seemed to realize that Jace would never lay a hand on her without her consent; she's seemed to separate him out as the _only _one she could trust. She was cautious of his mother even though she was the one healing her, and had been terrified of his father, either from his occupation of police officer or his presence in the male population. But no, he was the only one she seemed to rely on; and he felt _blessed_ that he could provide this to her, provide someone she could count on after years of loneliness and abuse and things much darker.

Clary nodded slowly, as though still thinking through her thoughts when he rose from the bed and slipped easily beneath the covers, not wanting to jostle her too much. The hand she'd held to her chest, she brought over his chest, resting her hand in his on his shirt. She propped her knee up on his thigh, most likely to relieve any pressure below her stomach. She pillowed her head on his bicep, keeping a good amount of space between them, but making it small enough that his heat touched her skin and the coolness of hers touched his.

He let her adjust, let her have control of the situation so she could feel comfortable enough that she fell back to sleep, one hand lying between them but her other twined with his. Her mouth was parted slightly but he didn't care about any of that. He was filled with utter joy that she trusted him enough to fall asleep in his bed with him, that she was safe now and on the mend. He wouldn't let anyone touch her again.

He used his free hand to grab the remote to his sound system, turning on an Imagine Dragons track before settling down beside Clary and drifting to sleep alongside her.

Clary woke up to one of her favorite music tracks. She didn't remember turning it on before she went to sleep, or hearing her alarm. She opened her eyes cautiously, taking in her surroundings. She didn't recognize this room, or the bed. She let her head fall to the side, realizing it was pillowed on something hard but infinitely tender. She saw Jace lying quietly beside her, asleep, his arm cradling her head to him.

Ah, she remembered now. Jace had saved her, taken her from the school and his mother had patched her up… and Jace saw it all. He saw every single mark, bruise and burn but he hadn't turned away in disgust, he'd only drawn her closer to hold her and whisper in her ear. He'd taken her in and sheltered her when he had every opportunity to turn heel and run from the hell her family wrought. She heaved a sigh of relief, tears dancing in her eyes as she cuddled up closer to Jace, reveling in the presence of a man for the first time, a man who'd laid her on a bed and taken care of her instead of violating her. He'd helped covering up the holes in her defenses, and body as well. His hands hadn't been the defiling, violating, vicious hands that usually polluted her body and mind, but soothing, mollifying hands trying to redeem her stained soul.

She pressed her face into Jace's side, completely devastated. Now she was on the outside of her abuse, able to look in instead of protecting herself from within against such assault, she burned inside. Her family had violated and abused her. Her brother had betrayed her by robbing her of her innocence, harming her in ways unspeakable when a brother was supposed to comfort and protect his little sister from their crushes and bandage their scraped knee, not bandage their bruises and cuts from his abuse or his father's. She's lost not only her mother but her entire family in slow progression. Her mother to the bullet, her brother to sick lust, and her father to vengeful grief that found the wrong outlet.

Her father had been loving and nurturing, when he wasn't disciplining. He only started in on her brother when he'd started slipping into the wrong crowd. Her father had been terrified that his own son would become one of the men he prosecuted daily in court. But he'd gone about it the wrong way, all wrong. Her father used to love her and give her piggy back rides around their yard. He used to smile. Ever since her mother died, he'd been in a rut, stuck and swallowed up by the monster that was grief when others have only kept as a deadly companion—able to kill them if they allowed it— for a short time before it became a sad reminder forever hanging around their necks. Her father let it the monster consume him, and now, instead of falling to the beast, he'd become the beast. He might have still appeared normal to others and on occasion, when he wasn't angry at her, he was just a blank slate but he was a ruthless monster. Even rarer than his blankness did he show any concern towards her being. When he'd sent her to bed that one day she'd come home, that was an anomaly. One that happened too infrequently.

Her mother, Angel, how she missed her mother. Her heart and soul and creativity that had inspired her to do art and aspire to go to Tish was now dead. Shot down in the street like some dog. Clary had never told anyone but she'd been there when she was shot. She'd gone along to help her mother pick out paintbrushes. They were barely out of their neighborhood when the black pickup had driven by, plates gone, windows tinted except for one that was rolled down, a hooded figure aiming a hand pistol at her mother.

She'd screamed, seeing the gun aimed at her, and her mother jumped in front of her, taking the bullet to the stomach. Jocelyn had fallen to the ground as the truck bolted off down the street. Clary was crying, trying to cover up her mother's wound but her mother had only smiled at her, telling her to run, run back to the house and hide before the truck came back. And it was coming back, reaching the end of the street and turning around. Clary didn't want to leave but she listened to her mother's insistent pleas.

She'd hidden in her room until the ambulance could be heard down the street, carting her mother to the hospital. Jocelyn had sent a paramedic back to get her daughter from the house, even as she bled out over the stretcher. The paramedic had to break in, finding Clary curled up on the floor of her closet, hugging her knees and rocking back on forth. He'd picked her up and carried her back to the ambulance, where her mother had demanded they wait to get Clary and make sure she was alright. That time Jocelyn had made the ambulance wait was what killed her. That's why it was her fault her mother was dead. She could've been saved, she could've lived if only she'd left her at the house for the drive by shooters to find. But she'd made them wait to get Clary and make sure she was okay.

Clary had been set in a hospital room, under guard while her mother was carted to surgery. While Clary was being examined by a pediatrician, her mother had died on the table in the OR. Her father had arrived an hour after her brother, who'd come two hours after her mother had passed. Valentine had found them huddled in Clary's hospital room, still under guard and under observation for any sign of PTSD or some reaction the trauma. No one had seemed to remember that she'd seen Jocelyn get shot, no one mentioned, no one spoke of it because no one knew.

The paramedic had told her that her mother had said he'd find her in the house alone, but on the word of her mother, she'd been washed of blood and not a word was said after of the event of Clary's presence. Not even in court. No witnesses were found aside from her. She'd lied to her father and said she was in the house watching Jocelyn walk into town when the black truck had pulled up and shot Jocelyn.

At the hospital when Valentine had arrived, Clary was asleep, cradled against her brother whose eyes were red, having cried silently after Clary had cried herself to sleep. She woke up soon after her father's arrival and that was the moment she'd seen the turn inside him, even if it was subsumed by pain and grief at the moment, he'd looked at her differently; and Jonathan only held onto her more tightly after that, rarely ever letting her out his sight until that hateful night when he'd first violated her.

She hadn't realized Jace had woken up, hearing her pain filled, agonizing sobs. She was cradled against him now, him rocking her back and forth, confused as all heck but immediately offering comfort, just like her brother had in the hospital. She could feel her mother's blood between her fingers, hot and thick as she'd tried to staunch the bleeding. The arms around her were her brother's, protecting her from the shadows of death and the glare of her father, innocent arms she could've run into any time, but no longer. Now the arms wrapped firmly around her were Jace's, strong and warm and safe. He said he'd never hurt her and she believed him.

At one time, she'd believed her family couldn't hurt her either but she was proven wrong, she only hoped Jace didn't let her down like the rest of her family. She heard Jace's voice after some time, swimming in her hearing.

"Clary! What's wrong, are you in pain? What can I do?" His voice was panicked, filled with concern and it broke her, she couldn't hold it in any longer. Her story, her history, her trauma, her life, came pouring out of her mouth, every single detail.

She told him about her mother's death, her presence there, that she'd been the target of the shooting as well as her mother. How she'd stepped in front of her to give her a chance to run. About the hospital, her brother, her father changing and never looking at her the same again. She told him about the night Jonathan defiled her, the night Valentine raped and beat her. She told him just about every abuse she could remember in the last six years that had been wrought upon her body and mind.

She told him about Simon and how he disappeared; she feared he was dead. She told him about all the efforts that were taken to keep her silent and compliant, how much she fought against her father and brother until she finally gave up getting beaten more than she had to. She told her mental depletion, degradation and torment as she had to endure years and years of mental, physical and emotional abuse from both her father and brother. She told Jace how Jonathan liked to use her gently, twisting her view of pleasure so that she somewhat enjoyed what he did to her, how Valentine outright raped her, using her roughly like a doll with no feeling, mere property and throwing her away, expecting her to be prepared for his next assault.

She told how his number, the number she'd put in her bra, had led to her branding, her torture over the last weekend and yesterday, or was that two days ago? She told him what they made her do, what they did to her. Everything, her soul, her heart, mind, body, all laid bared and vulnerable before Jace because she couldn't hold it in any longer without killing herself with grief and pain and torment.

Jace was silent for a long time, never relinquishing his hold on her as she subsided, floating in an utterly exhausted state against his chest. He didn't say anything for so long, Clary was getting worried he'd gone into shock but he leaned down, tilting her chin up to look at him.

"How can you even stand for me to touch you, after everything those monsters have done to you?" Jace asked, his voice quiet and filled with wonderment more than worry.

Clary couldn't open her eyes, they were too heavy and swollen from crying. "You haven't betrayed me yet. You've taken such good care of me, you helped me when no else could or would. You're my savior Jace and I hope I can trust you forever."

"I do too," he replied, gathering her against him before laying her back down on the bed. He brushed her cheek with his thumb, the unbruised one without the butterfly bandage, and bent to kiss her forehead before she heard him leave. She was too tired and content, feeling a million pounds lighter, to move or call after him but she did hear murmurs out in the hallway and the next thing she knew, Jace was sitting back on the bed, helping her sit up and whispering to her, something about Maryse checking on her and changing her bandages.

After a moment and Clary hadn't moved except to snuggle up to Jace's thigh, he reached down and swept her up in his arms. She looped her arms around his neck drowsily, tucking her nose into his neck as he strode into the bathroom. He kissed behind her ear gently, knowing it was one of the only untouched spots on her body. She blew out a gentle breath through her nose before peeling her eyes open, finding comforting golden eyes staring down at her with an equally warm smile.

"Hi," she murmured tiredly, smiling back.

"Hello," he replied, setting her down on the padded bench.

Clary was vaguely aware of Maryse moving around the bathroom, gathering the supplies she'd used before.

"I'm going to lift your shirt up so Mom can change you burn bandages, okay?" Jace said as he crouched in front of her.

Clary nodded slowly, still feeling warm and light. Jace lifted her shirt just enough that Maryse could unwrap the gauze and bandages from her hips and examine the burns. It looked a lot better than it had. It was no longer swollen and angry with blackened skin, but was crusted on the outside, the skin inside the brand a dark pink. Maryse reapplied burn ointment and bandages before asking her to strip completely so she could see how the rest of her was doing. This time Jace left, closing the door. Clary watched him go, wondering what he could be thinking of when he saw her body now she'd spilled everything to him.

She wondered if he was pained every time he saw a mark or cut on her body, especially the burn so cruelly placed upon her. The thought of Jace in pain made her heart ache. She didn't want to see him hurt because whether she wanted to admit it or not, she felt something deeper for him than gratitude. She jumped as Maryse's cool fingers applied ointment to her more private areas and her cheeks flared red.

"I'll need to know exactly how you got these wounds eventually, Clary," Maryse said sweetly as she gently moved to her upper body to apply menthol patches her bruised shoulder.

Clary hung her head. "I know," she replied quietly. "Jace knows, I told him everything." Pain rippled through her chest. "I really don't want to have to explain or relive it again if I can help it."

Maryse cupped Clary's cheek in a motherly gesture meant to comfort even as she replaced the butterfly bandage on her cheek. "I know sweetie. I can't imagine how much pain you had to endure to get all these," she said gesturing to all her wounds. She didn't look Clary in the eyes, which she was grateful for; she wasn't sure she could take that loving, careful gaze that reminded her so much of her own mother.

"I'll come check on you later," Maryse said, helping her to her feet and out of the bathroom. Jace was just walking back in with the electronic device that Maryse had left the first time she bandaged Clary. When he saw her in his long shirt, hair mussed and freshly bandaged, even though Clary thought she looked horrible, he smiled, striding forward to take her from his mother, arm wrapping loosely around her ribs, far above her burn.

He said goodbye to his mother before helping her over to bed. Before she sat down, even though her legs were rubbery, she turned into Jace.

"Thank you, so much Jace. I can't express how grateful I am," she said, looking up into his warm golden eyes.

"I'm only glad I got you out before you died, Clary. I don't what I would have done if you had died," he whispered back, leaning down to brush his nose over her forehead, drawing her scent into his lungs. She closed her eyes and went on her tiptoes, barely aware of herself as she cautiously, but all too excitedly, kissed Jace's soft full lips. His lips weren't like the rest of his hard body, they were the only pliant part of him, the only part of him with give. She sank into him, letting him pick her up gently when his mouth reciprocated the kiss tentatively.

A little moan a pain escaped as his arms pressed against her bottom to pick her up. Jace tried to pull away at her sound of distress but Clary shook her head, mumbling it was fine and pulling his head back down. Jace let himself get pulled back into her kiss, laying down on his back on his covers. She deepens the kiss when she notices he deliberately put her on top of him, leaving her with freedom of motion and the ability to pull away.

Her Jace, considerate, loving, and caring for other people's needs before his own. Jace placed his palms flat on her shoulders, where her smallest and oldest bruises lay. His care only made her want to kiss him more, but she was still wary of this, of letting a man touch her. But Jace hadn't harmed her, hadn't tried to force her into anything and had let her initiate any contact. She hated that her trust had been broken; that her family had destroyed her and she wanted so badly to get better. Maybe, with Jace, she could take steps in that direction.

This feeling was foreign to her, when she kissed him, when Jace let her have control. She took long, languorous kisses from Jace, kneeling over him and gently laying her body over his. Drugging kisses fogged her mind as she let Jace slip his tongue into her mouth. This felt so much better than everything else she'd ever been forced to do. She didn't know kisses could be pleasant or enjoyable but that first time Jace had kissed her, she had been utterly shocked and the more she let Jace have a little control, the more she was finding she could like kissing.

They stayed like that, kissing and locked in a gentle but loving embrace, for quite some time until her body began to ache from lying on him. Jace was the one to break the kiss, stroking his thumb over her clear cheek before kissing her neck and behind her ear. She shivered at the wonderful, guilt free, pain free pleasure as Jace nibbled on her collarbone. His touch was still light and prudent as his tongue swirled on her skin. She let her head drop onto his shoulder, even as her burn began to ache.

"Angel, Clary, I wish you were healed. I want to show all the things pleasure is really meant for, not a torture or punishment, but for your enjoyment exclusively," Jace whispered wickedly in her ear. Instead of being scared or with trepidation as she would have expected her body responded by heating, pooling low in her stomach.

"You'll just have to be patient," Clary responded flirtatiously, leaning down to kiss his neck. She reveled in how much joy she could take in this, in Jace's touch, in a _man's _touch. She felt free and light and airy. She, with a pure smile on her face despite the aching pain in her body, bent down and pressed her lips to his, returning to her slow drugging kisses.

A low buzz interrupted them, causing her spine to straighten and her muscles to coil. The buzz went off again, making Clary lift her head. She saw her bag by Jace's desk and knew that someone was calling her phone. She reached over and pulled out her phone. Jace was watching her carefully as she flipped open the phone.

"Clary," Jace warned, reaching to take the phone from her. Clary batted his hand away and motioned for him to be quiet before she pressed answer.

She knew she shouldn't be answering when her brother was calling, especially when she was in hiding.

"Clarissa?" Her brother's voice echoed from the other line and her heart gave a strange lurching. He actually sounded worried, like the brother she used to know who held her to his chest while she cried in the hospital room after their mother had died.

Tears sprang into her eyes and she had to cover her mouth to prevent a sob from escaping. Jace lay still below her, hand on her waist.

"Clarissa if you're there please answer me, I know this isn't your voicemail so someone had to have picked up. Clary? Little sister, answer me. I'm sorry for what I did, I'm sorry, I just want to know you're alright, please."

That sentence, _I'm sorry for what I did,_ is what crushed her tears and replaced it with righteous rage. "You're sorry?" She practically shouted into the phone. "For what, branding me? Or was it raping me? Or maybe beating me? You were my brother Jonathan! Brothers aren't supposed to do that kind of thing. Brothers are supposed to protect their little sisters, Jonathan, not rape and abuse them! How in the bloody hell do you think you can just apologize and I'll come running back to you like a good little dog?"

"No Clarissa, I'm not calling you like a master to his dog. Tell me where you are," he said, his voice unchanging, his usual silky voice stuttered. She tried to push out thoughts of him before, of when he was in pain and she welcomed him into bed. Now the tears did roll, cracking her voice.

"Why should I? All you do is play games with me. All you do is hurt me. You couldn't even wait two months after Mom died until you raped me. Why should I tell you where I am only for you and father to go back to beating and abusing me?"

Her eyes were locked with Jace's as he reached up, placing his palm over her hand holding the cell phone. He made to take her phone from her but she caught his wrist, restraining him for a moment as Jonathan responded.

"It's for your improvement Clarissa. We only treat you this way so you can become a better person."

"Now it's we?" Clary scoffed. "Now Valentine thinks he can redeem himself? After what he's done? He's worse than you," Clary growled.

"Clarissa—"

"No," she snapped. "I'm never going back, I'm never going to let you or Dad touch me ever again. I'm fed up with you and Valentine." With that she snapped her phone shut and threw it onto her bag, collapsing onto Jace. She sniffed against his shoulder, trying to drown herself in his warmth.

His arms slipped around her waist, holding her close as he stood up and sat back down on the bed with her in his lap. "Why does he have to play yo-yo, Jace? Both of them hurt me, betrayed me and then they do and say things that remind me of when they actually loved me. I can't take it, Jace. It hurts worse than his beatings, Jace."

She cried his name, clinging to him like a talisman. He sank his fingers into her wild mass of red hair, cradling her head to his chest. She was fine knowing he had no words of comfort for her, his arms around her were enough. Her head shot up as the doorbell rang.

"You expecting anyone?" Clary asked, sliding off his lap. Jace shook his head and handed her a pair of his sweat pants.

Maryse rushed in then, looking flustered. She looked directly at Clary. "You're brother's here. You need to run."


	6. Never Send a Man To Do a Woman's Work

Quickie update. Here's the low down:

-Short Chapter

-Not supposed to be up

-Updating in secret

-Will update Last Hope as soon as possible

-Just updated Fructus Arboris Venenato on other account, another Clonthan fic, go check it out

-Enjoy the chapter

-Love you all

-P.S. Don't hate me by the end of this

* * *

Jace unlocked the condo door with his free hand, Clary cradled against him, asleep, as he walked into the room. He laid her down on the bed gently, not wanting to disturb her sleep as he pulled the covers back before setting her beneath them. He knelt beside the bed, slipping off the too large boots he'd made her borrow. Her breathing was light, but deeper than the last time he'd checked, hopefully meaning she was beginning to heal. He pulled the plush, white comforter over her before turning off the lamp on the nightstand. He checked the window, pulling aside the curtain ever so slightly to look out over New York in their twelfth story condo.

Maryse had given him her credit card and the keys to their condo in the center of New York, just above Time Square before Jace had to practically carry Clary out the back door, taking his father's car. By the time Clary had stopped panicking, paranoid that her brother or father was following them even after many reassurances from Jace that they weren't, they'd only been halfway to the condo. Another quarter of the way and Clary had worried herself to sleep.

Along with Maryse's credit card, she'd thrown all the medical supplies into a duffle bag for him, along with pairs of his clothes, sweats and sweatshirts for Clary, his cell, wallet and car keys. His father had called him after Clary had fallen asleep, telling him that he was being charged with kidnapping, now that it had been 48 hours. Jace had asked why he was being charged and Robert responded that Clary's brother had found a note he wrote to Clary hidden under her mattress.

Wonderful, Jace was now a wanted criminal trying to hide an abused woman from her crazed and psychotic family. He'll make sure to put that on his postcard from the Bahamas. Or maybe his résumé. But, the one good thing was, Robert being the police chief was easing tension off of Jace. He was slowly obtaining a search warrant for the Morgenstern manor to look for clues to Clary's 'kidnapping.' In the house Robert would retrieve the cameras Jace had planted and would then have video evidence against Valentine and Jonathan. It shouldn't take more than a few days, then Jace would be allowed to come back without being attacked by Clary's rabid brother or father.

Jace turned at the sound of Clary's quiet moan of distress. Striding back over to her side of the bed, he knelt.

"Jace," she groaned before bolting upright, looking on the verge of a scream. She grimaced and hugged her stomach, clearly in pain from the sudden movement. Her green eyes caught him in a net and held him there.

"Jace," she whispered again, panting against the pain. Pulling himself away from those entrapping eyes he dug in the duffel he'd brought and pulled out the pain pills, handing a few to Clary and getting her a glass of water. After she'd swallowed them, she subsided but still trembled from the obvious nightmare. Jace wanted to kill the two men who had done this to her, caused her so much pain that she couldn't even escape in her dreams.

"I'm here Clary, I'm here," he whispered, sweeping her hair back from her face and smiling even though she couldn't see him in the dark.

With a quiet whimper, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, tugging him forward until he relented and slipped onto the bed, cradling her in his lap. He buried his hand in her hair, the other wrapped gently around her waist.

"It's alright, I'm here. You're safe, I won't let anything happen to you," he consoled in the dark of the room, hoping Clary found the dark comforting instead of suffocating. He wondered if he should turn on the light but when he leaned over to turn it on Clary shook her head.

"No, leave it off. If you turn the lights on they'll be able to find me," she whispered, burying her face in his chest so he was barely able to hear her next words. "You'll be able to see me."

It felt like Jace's heart had been sucker punched. She still thought herself unattractive to him, still scared that he would reject her. Knowing words at this point would be useless, so he decided to show her how much she meant to him. He pressed his mouth to her cool neck, stilling at her shocked gasp of breath. He waited for her rejection, for the small hands to push him away or the faint words denying him but he heard or felt none of the sort. So he began to move his mouth, gently licking at her skin, pressing loving kisses to her neck, travelling up her throat until he reached the spot behind her ear, where neither Jonathan nor Valentine had ever touched.

"Is this alright?" He asked, his hands winding themselves in her borrowed shirt.

He felt Clary's slight nod before he continued his kisses to her jawline, keeping them so feather light that there was no chance of her bruises being disturbed. He saw the faint movement of her eyelids fluttering shut, her breath leaving her lungs in a content sigh. Jace reached her mouth, lowering his lips ever so slowly over hers. He felt the moment she withdrew from him, in her mind and body.

She turned her face away but she kept her arms wrapped around his neck.

"I—I'm sorry Jace. It's just… I can't explain but…"

He could tell she was struggling and his heart ached.

"It's alright Clary, we don't have to do anything you don't want," Jace whispered, his nose feathering over her cheek.

She turned back to him then, green eyes brimming with tears. "But that's just it Jace. I _want _you, I want you so badly my body aches. But it feels like I'm falling into a trap again. Jonathan made me feel pleasure, he made my body like it and in some ways I liked to float away on it, pretend I was somewhere else where no one could touch me or my pleasure but he always took it away, Jace. And with you I'm so terrified that you'll use it against me, then I get this warm feeling in my chest and butterflies in my stomach that I've never gotten before and I just don't know what to do. What they did to me haunts my every moment, waking and sleeping and I so badly want to wipe them away with something, I want something, some_one,_ I can count on and trust in completely. And when you kiss me Jace… I feel all funny, the good funny, not when Jonathan would strap and strip me down or Valentine would beat me, the funny that I can enjoy myself in and relax in. Jace I want this to happen but I don't know how to trust, even though I want to. I want to trust you desperately, I mean you saved me. I should trust you. Shouldn't I?"

"I can't answer that for you sweetheart," Jace replied calmly, not betraying the leaping emotions of joy. She wanted him, with a passion, there were just a few road bumps. Bumps that he was completely willing to go over, with Clary. "You have to decide that for yourself, based on my actions or my words. Ignore what your mind is saying, you've been hurt there and your mind needs time to heal, listen to your heart. Battered and bruised though it may be, your heart will know what's best in this situation. I won't try to sway you in any direction. It's your decision, entirely."

His own body was burning feverishly now as he held her, feeling her soft curves pressed against him. But he waited patiently, even though his body agonized over it. Though he wasn't disappointed. Not a minute later, Clary turned in his lap and fused her lips to his in an almost frantic passion, as though if she stopped to think about it, she would chicken out. He parted her lips with his tongue, his movements still gentle and careful. She moaned softly as she shoved him back on the bed. He landed in the pillows, his hands bracing her bottom as she sat against the growing tent in his pants.

She stopped kissing him for a moment, leaning back to draw her shirt over her head, tossing it away to reveal bare naked breasts, bruises and soft skin gleaming in the dark as she leaned down to kiss him again. Her mouth enveloped his senses, drowning him as he caught the scent of her lotion, apple blossoms. Her hands slid beneath his shirt, desperate to tear it off. He stilled her hands, knowing the movement must be causing her pain, taking his shirt off on his own before catching her up and lowering her to the bed beneath him.

"Do you trust me enough for this?"

Clary seemed to hesitate for a moment, her eyes roaming over his body and arms, the bed and his naked chest. All the while biting her cute little lip. It was a while before she nodded her head hesitantly, a moment later more firm, a determined look in her eyes. He grinned at her, feeling elated and happy as he bent down to kiss her. Her lips were warm and welcoming before he slid his lips from hers to trail lovingly down her throat. She arched her back into him, pressing her breasts against his chest. His hands skimmed lightly over her skin, mindful of her bruises and cuts.

He moved his mouth to the center of her chest before kissing over the swell of her breasts, teeth scraping gently as he took her nipple into his mouth. He loved the small little sound she made as he flattened his tongue and licked. She shuddered. He smiled against her skin, overjoyed that she trusted him enough to give her body to him.

Her hands came up to cup his head, her legs wrapping around his waist. He released her breast as he traveled further down her body, blowing hot breath over the bandaged wounds, kissing the scars and healed over ones. Her fingers knotted in his hair even as he gently removed her legs from his waist, lips pressed against the middle of her stomach, a safe distance away from her burn. His hands slid under the loose waistband of her sweatpants before slowly, ever so slowly, sliding them down her legs.

He lifted her hips himself, working the pants off and discarding them on the floor. He kneeled over her, unbuttoning his own jeans but when he looked down, his breath caught at the beautiful sight that lay beneath him. She was smiling, her white teeth showing as she stared up at him with happy, trusting eyes. He didn't know what he did to deserve that kind of look. It was heart melting, even as his gaze traveled down her naked body. He didn't care she was bruised and battered and scarred, inside and out, but it was his job to nurture the creative and loving soul that he knew belonged to Clary's smile. The smile that laid across her lips.

As soon as he slipped his pants off, he enveloped her lips with his own, arms wrapping around her waist to hoist her onto his lap. She wrapped her legs around his waist, hands cupping the back of his neck and kissing him back with a ferocity he'd seen only a few times before. It's like something was sparked in her and he loved it.

He hadn't been wearing any underwear so he hadn't needed to take them off, so Clary sat bare and exposed on top of his naked body. He could feel the heat rolling off her and he savored it, tongue slipping inside her mouth to dance with hers. A switch seemed to have been flipped he realized, and she was wild and reckless, meeting his every touch with one of her own. He was so hard it hurt just to move.

His hands slid down to cup her bottom, to hoist her up and slide her tight body onto his. He groaned just as Clary shouted in pleasure, clutching him like she was falling from a cliff. She pulled away, leaning her head back and Jace took the opportunity to kiss her throat, nibbling on the hollow of her collarbone. He let Clary set the pace, knowing she still had to have an element of control in things like this. She circled her hips over his, making him groan with pleasure. The bittersweet irony of this was that she had experience, she knew how to use it too.

Her skin became slick with sweat as she kept up a fast pace, surprising him with her stamina but he wasn't surprised based on what her brother and father put her through. She would have had to have stamina. Jace slid his hand between their bodies, finding the sensitive spot that was so rewarding. His hand burned being so close to the heat of their joining and he loved it. He wanted to wrap himself in the heat, use it to soothe Clary's nightmares as well and give her a new meaning to pleasure instead of it being used as a tool of torment and pain.

She let out a small cry suddenly, startling Jace, making him halt her movements with gentle hands on her hips.

"Are you okay?" He whispered, his voice hoarse. He didn't want to stop, he wanted to go on like this forever until both of them were blind to the world and all their troubles. But she was more important than his physical pleasure. "Do we need to stop?"

He saw her worry her lip for only a moment before readjusting herself and shaking her head, breasts swaying with her heavy breath. "No, no, just shocked is all. I never thought I'd be able to do this with anyone and enjoy it. I didn't think I'd ever let anyone touch me if I could help it."

She seemed to hold back tears, face breaking and breaking Jace's heart right along with it. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his shoulder. He held her like that for a moment, his body still hard and unsated inside her but he stayed still, being whatever his Clary needed him to be. She came first. But to his utter surprise she tightened her legs around his waist and squeezed her feminine muscles around him. He groaned at the sensation before she began lifting and lowering herself on him again.

He fell back on the bed, holding her to him as she stroked his body. He released her as she sat up, bracing her hands on his chest before she set a hard pace, head flung back, eyes closed as though lost in sensation. Her nails scraped his chest even as fiery pleasure shot through his veins, making his body vibrate. He slid his hands over her thighs, knowing he couldn't hold onto her hips with the ferocity he wanted to but Clary didn't seem to notice as her first orgasm washed over her. She cried out his name, echoing in the dark like a beloved talisman she would always cherish.

She gave herself two more orgasms with his body as he was slow to his, not able to take her the way he wanted but he loved how she dragged out the pleasure, seeming to pour some of her own into him with each moan and smile down at him, each loving kiss she stole from his lips. Now she was lying beneath him, at her insistence. He'd asked her if the position was okay, she'd nodded and told him to do what he was holding back from all night because she knew he was holding back. He'd argued of course but she threatened that if he didn't take the driver's seat then he wouldn't get an orgasm at all and would be resigned to a cold shower. He'd laughed and set a steady rhythm which he now had increased.

His body became frenzied as Clary climaxed once more, hot liquid desire enveloping his swollen erection before his climax came hard on the heels of hers. He shouted Clary's name, clutching her tightly to him as his body released itself, heat pouring over the both of them and Jace made a huge effort to pull out of her and collapse beside her instead of on top of her. He shuddered with horror and embarrassment at the sound that would have been torn from her lips if his full weight had dropped onto her bruised body.

He listened for a moment to his heaving breath before he realized Clary was laughing breathlessly, rolling over and cupping his cheek before she kissed him blind. She went on like that, lying beside him and drowning him in kisses before she finally pulled back, still laughing but drowsily now, exhausted no doubt from the sex and her injuries. She pressed her forehead against his chest, kissing the burning skin slowly, her movements becoming more and more lethargic.

"I love you Jace," he heard her whisper, cheek rubbing slowly against his chest like a cat. It took him a moment to register what she'd said but when he did, he looked down, wanting to reply that he loved her too but she was already asleep. Curled into his chest, lips slightly parted and leg propped on his. He smiled; grinned like an idiot more like. She loved him, she loved him, she loved him. it was the only coherent thought he could process. This beautiful warrior of a woman loved him. He bent to kiss her forehead before slipping off the bed.

He saw the red blossoming beneath her bandages and went to retrieve the medical kit from the duffel he'd brought, still grinning hugely. He pulled his boxers back on before moving over to Clary's sleeping form, kneeling beside the bed to replace the bandage over her burn with a sticky gauze pad and some ointment. She moaned in her sleep, a moan of pain before settling again, a scowl on her face.

"Jace," she breathed. "Come back to bed, I'm cold."

He smiled, putting the medical supplies aside to pick her up from the bed, gently. He pulled the covers back and slid beneath them with her cradled in his arms. She was still coherent enough to adjust herself, pulling one of his thighs between her legs and wrapping her arm around his waist. He laid back, arm secured around her shoulders as his nose dipped to the top of her red mane of hair. He kissed her there once, receiving a breathy sigh of contentment and some shifting.

"I love you too," he whispered and he swore he saw Clary smile at him in the dark.

Clary woke up to an achy body, the sort of ache that came with Jonathan's sex and it terrified her into stillness for a moment, unable to breathe. But this ache was deeper, richer somehow as it coated her body. She frowned, wondering what Jonathan had done different before she remembered that it wasn't Jonathan who'd gotten to her last night, it was Jace. Now a grin broke across her face, openly pressing her cheek against the warm, hard chest beneath her hand. She burrowed in the warmth before her, gratefully wrapping herself around him, never before able to actually enjoy waking up next to a man in bed.

Before she'd dreaded it because it meant that the night before had been real, the nightmare that she'd wished was just that had been reality. It confirmed over and over, that she had been defiled against her will. Every time she woke up after one of Jonathan or Valentine's treatments she would hope, day after day, that it was actually a nightmare only. The hot, suffocating body beside her when she woke up meant it was real, all of it.

But now, snuggled up against Jace, remembering all the things he's done and said these past few days, what he gave her last night, restored some of her trust, she wanted to fall back asleep wrapped in his strong embrace. She didn't mind his thigh fit snuggly between her legs or the arm draped over her hip, the arm wrapped around her shoulders. She loved the warmth breath blowing over her scalp, Jace's nose buried in her hair.

She noticed that Jace had put his boxers back on and was happy for the coverage, even if she was still buck naked. She hugged Jace's thigh tighter between her own, pressing herself against his bare chest. She loved the way he smelled, like pine and fresh air. She heard him murmur something against her hair, unable to catch the words. But she was certainly able to notice the light hand skimming over her bare skin, barely brushing the bruised surface.

His hand tipped over her hip, rounding down to her flat belly before he buried his fingers in the thatch of curls between her legs. He shifted his thigh down, making room so he could cup her mound. Her body responded with a flash of heat, intensifying as Jace's hand separated the folds of her body and touched her core. She gasped, tilting her head back as his fingers moved over her, stimulating all the heat into an inferno.

She was utterly jealous, jealous he was able to make her body crave him, to make her trust him and love him even in his sleep, where no one she'd ever met could even gain her trust completely sober and fully conscious. Tilting her head back, she moved her hips over his hand, wanting him to go faster, press harder. Her body was agonizing over the too slow pace. It was like he was deliberately tormenting her but unlike her other torments, she enjoyed this one, wholly and freely.

Her hand clutched his bicep, feeling the muscles work beneath her fingers as his did the most wonderfully wicked things to her. She moaned, low in her throat, Jace's mouth now against her forehead. His warm lips moved in silent words, hot breath breezing over hotter skin. She was slick with sweat now, after so little time.

She had to muffle a cry of pleasure as his fingers slipped lower and he slid two of them inside her, slowly, ever so slowly, pumping them in and out until she was almost mad with desire, burning for Jace when he wasn't even awake enough to know. She moaned again, pleasure sweeping up her body, turning it to flames.

"Jace," she whispered desperately. "Jace, you need to wake up, you're killing me."

It took a moment for his hand to stop working down below, another for him to open his eyes and yet another for him to assess the situation. His molten gold eyes locked with hers for a moment, travelling down to her slightly parted lips then lower to where his hand disappeared between them. He grinned. Instead of removing himself like she expected him to, he slid another finger inside her, making her throw her head back in a shout of ecstasy. He rolled over top of her, body braced so not to crush her fragile one.

His lips caressed her throat as his fingers prompted her further and further to the edge where paradise lay. His soft, hot lips traveled up her throat, her exposed pulse before traveling over her jawline and finally capturing her lips. She let out a low moan, one hand now wrapped around the wrist of the hand pleasuring her and the other coming to wrap around the nape of his neck, hold his lips to her as he brought her to orgasm.

She tipped her head back and screamed in ecstasy, in pure joy, at the feeling of freedom and love washing over her. She'd never felt so light and liberated before, so free to enjoy herself and not feel guilty. Jace didn't stop at her first orgasm. He drove her mad with another one and Clary frantically threaded her fingers through his golden locks, crushing his lips to hers, loving how he stole each and every sound from her, took each one she gave to him and gave back tenfold. Her nails dug into his wrist as her body went into spasms.

"Jace!" His name was ripped from her lips as pleasure ripped through her body. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think as Jace's fingers heightened her orgasm.

"You have to stop Jace. I can't take another one, I'm already so sore," she whispered, tossing her head back and forth against the pillows. She was disappointed, despite her words, when his fingers withdrew from her. He dropped to the bed beside her, dropping kisses over the side of her breast to make her shiver.

"Good morning to you too," Clary whispered and smiled when she heard Jace's soft snort.

"Good morning," he whispered back and his gravelly voice alone shook her with an aftershock. "I need to change your bandages," he declared. "Get your cute little butt into the bathroom."

Clary gave him a glare before he smiled and kissed her nose.

"Please," he amended and with Jace's help, she managed to get to the bathroom without too much trouble. He let her take a quick shower after removing all the old bandages before placing her in front of the floor length mirror they had in the bathroom while Jace went to get the medical bag. Clary looked at herself in the mirror, naked and damp and frowned, eyes skimming her own body before her eyes closed in shame, silent tears welling up and the corners of her mouth turned down in disgust. She turned away.

Only to find Jace walking back in with the medical bag. He gave her a smile that melted her heart as he set the bag on the counter beside her. He came toe to toe with her, still smiling down at her so she had to crane her neck.

"You're not where I left you," he said, brushing wild red hair, even after a shower, from her face.

"I don't like mirrors Jace," Clary replied, wrapping her arms over her chest, suddenly very self-conscious. Jace only gave her this sweet smile before he turned her around. Facing the mirror, she saw Jace smiling at her reflection and that was all she focused on. That was all.

"Look in that mirror," Jace said, settling his chin on her shoulder. Clary's eyes flicked to his in the mirror. "What do you see?"

"You," Clary said wistfully, draping her arms over his around her waist.

Jace chuckled softly. "What do you see when you look at you?"

Clary frowned as her gaze slid over her tattered body. "Someone who's broken and unfixable. And who needs to buy fade cream for her freckles."

Jace's smile faded, rubbing his chin over her shoulder, the unbruised one. "That's not what I see," he whispered, a pout on his face that made him look ten years younger. She almost smiled at the image of a pouty seven year old Jace.

"I see a beautiful, perfect body beneath badges of survival," he said, his hands running lightly from her shoulders down her arms, then from the sides of her breasts over her hips.

"I see wonderfully green emeralds set in a fine, regal face that smiles too little, but I'll make sure to fix that," he said with a smile, running gentle fingers over her cheekbones. His hands slid down her chest.

"I see perfect breasts that I love to have pressed against my chest and wild red hair that I love to have cascade over my skin. Perfect little freckles that my eyes trace effortlessly in a beautiful pattern every time I see your face."

He pressed his mouth into her throat, massaging tender skin as his hands moved further down, fingertips ghosting over her nipples, drawing them to attention before his hands enveloped her small breasts. She gasped, letting a moan slip out when she leaned her head back against Jace's chest.

"I see treasure on every spot of your body, a body I will cherish and love and worship for as long as you'll have me," Jace breathed, one hand settling on her ribs directly below her breasts while the other one slid down to the trove of red curls between her thighs. He cupped her softly, tenderly, knowing she was extra sore, still healing from before and worn from last night.

"And the brave, colorful, creative mind lying in that pretty little head of yours," he said, lips moving over skin until she closed her eyes. When he put it that way, she didn't sound like a patchwork body of scars and cuts and bruises. And now the brand, forever marking her as a Morgenstern and burning the reminder of all the horrid things she's had done to her.

His hand tightened over her mound as her hand slid into his hair, cupping the back of his neck.

"Jace!" His name was a hoarse cry for mercy, for shelter from the torrents of her life.

"Shh, I've got you," he murmured against her throat. "I've got you," he soothed, fingers sliding between the folds of her body. "And I'm never letting you go."

A knock on the door drew Jace away from his hot mouthed kisses on her neck. He lifted his head lazily as another knock came, his hand warm against her core. Yet another knock had Clary shaking and Jace drawing a robe over her body. Had they found her? Jace whispered for her to go get dressed as another knock sounded on the door.

As she pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt, Jace opened the door. Time just sort of dissolved from there, lost meaning as blood and hope drained from her body. She didn't really know why she wasn't having a panic attack then and there but she didn't. She only stood, still as a waving bamboo branch, swaying back and forth in the breeze as though about to break from the ever increasing gust. She supposed, at the time, that she went into a sort of shock then, at the sound of her brother's voice, the radios buzzing with static as police officers stormed the room, the click of metal handcuffs.

Jonathan swam into view, a blurry apparition that she wished was just that. Maybe he was, her mind was reeling so dramatically she didn't even call out as Jace was hauled away by two policemen or struggle when her brother wrapped an arm around her waist, gently drawing her out the door and down the halls where policemen were crawling. She thinks she caught a flash of Mr. Herondale or Lightwood, she didn't know which name he went by. Wasn't he chief of police? He was letting his son be arrested? Let her be taken away after he saw the physical evidence of what the very man beside her had done?

She wanted to hate him, or yell at him, but all she felt was a cold dread, seeping through her veins like sinister ice, freezing and stealing any warmth or trust she had gained from Jace. She'd trusted Jace too, let herself fall for him after she told herself over and over and over not to; she would only get hurt. It seemed only fitting that the morning after she let him have her trust, let him _inside her body_ that she would be betrayed and dragged back to her hellish prison. She was finally able to move after a moment, after being led down stairs and crammed into an elevator with police and cuffed Jace, with her brother and Mr. Lightwood.

And she only bowed her head, resigning herself to silence, disappointment and begrudging acceptance. This was her own fault, it was the world ensuring her punishment for letting her mother die, for letting herself trust someone after years of discipline that she'd received. Or maybe it was just time for her to leave. If no one else could save her, then she would just finish herself off.

Her mother had always said, "Never send a man to do a woman's work."

She knew now that was true.


	7. Chapter 7

Le finale! The last and final chapter, I might write an epilogue for both Last Hope and Winter Rose, but those will come later. Enjoy the finale lovelies!

* * *

Clary sat silent, brooding, in the police station's interrogation room, blind and deaf to the bustle around her. A detective was asking her questions, treating her gently and cautiously, asking if she needed a doctor. She answered one question and one only.

"Jace didn't kidnap me, I went with him of my own free will."

After that, the detective's questions fell on deaf ears. Clary was aware that Jonathan was watching her closely. She didn't dare say anything else, didn't care to. Soon the detective led her out and released her into the custody of her brother, being a minor still. As Jonathan escorted her through the police station, acting for all the world to see a good brother, she saw Jace through the clear glass window, sitting moodily in another interrogation room. She caught his golden eyes, and from her short glimpse, they seemed tortured and agonized as they watched her go past. She didn't want it to, but her heart ached physically in her chest.

Jonathan was all the sensitive, caring specimen of family as he escorted her out to his car; she was terrified Valentine would pop out of nowhere, his stern, razor sharp glare cutting into her skin. But he didn't pop out, Jonathan tucked her into his Corvette and slid into the driver's seat. He said nothing, didn't even look at her as they drove home, no not home, hell. As he drove her back to hell.

Jonathan pulled into his drive way, shutting off the car before he hauled her inside. Clary did nothing to fight back, weak and numb. She didn't know whether she expected it or she was too dazed to react, but she did nothing as Jonathan shut the door behind them. Valentine stood in the entry way, glaring at her with his cool, cutting gaze, cutting straight through her protective listlessness. She didn't cry out when Jonathan kicked the back of her knees, causing her to crumple to the floor; she was on her hands and knees, shuddering as Valentine spoke in his cold voice, without inflection.

"The police just left the house Clarissa," he said, his lawyer voice coating the anger she could hear simmering just beneath the surface. "Did you know that?"

On shaky hands and knees, keeping her red hair a curtain between her and her family's ruthless stares, she shook her head slowly.

"Well, for your benefit, I will tell you what I told the police. My daughter was kidnapped by the unstable, transfer student down the street. He left a note that my daughter hid under her bed mere hours before she disappeared. Of course this was a lie, Clarissa. What really happened?"

Clary's mistake was not answering. She heard the distant click of a belt buckle, as though she were far away and it was an echo ricocheting down a canyon to her ears. She registered hot hands tearing the shirt from her, Jace's shirt, baring her naked chest and back, her bandaged skin, somewhat healed now to be once again abused. What woke her numb body was the crack of leather against her aching skin.

She cried out, going down on one elbow, still struggling to support herself as the fresh pain throbbed through her skin.

"Are you going to answer me Clarissa?" Valentine's voice finally managed to cut completely through the layers of protection she'd thrown up, just like the belt had cut through skin, leaving a warm trail of blood seeping down her back, gathering on her stomach, threatening to drip before finally falling to the floor. "Why were the police really here?"

Clary took a shuddering breath before forcing herself to speak. "I… ran away."

She gasped as another sting lashed across her back, driving her other elbow out from under her, to the cold marble floor.

"Try again," he said. Clary couldn't catch her breath, body shuddering horribly as she heard more blood dripping onto the floor.

"I—I ran away… with Jace," she gasped, feeling her brother's hot gaze sliding over her back. Another whip lash snapped like a bamboo stalk over her skin. She pressed her forehead to the cool marble, shivering as pain flooded her body.

"But now you're going to be punished for that," she heard Jonathan's voice from behind her, trickling ice through the heated blood dripping down her back. A booted foot—she didn't know if it was Valentine's or Jonathan's—flipped her onto her back, making her whimper for she didn't have the strength to scream. Jonathan leaned down and ripped the large white bandage from the Morgenstern brand on her hip.

She let out a moan of pain as he ran fingers over the healing brand, leaving a clean 'M' burned into her hip. Valentine spoke up, standing over her.

"See that Clarissa," he asked, pointing to the brand he and Jonathan had placed there not two weeks ago. "That marks you as a Morgenstern. That marks you as _my _property. Jonathan's property. You don't have the choice to run off with some boy, you don't have choices period. You—"

Something seemed to strike him at that moment, pausing his speech, his punishment as something crossed his face. Then the belt slammed over her bare stomach, causing a scream of pain to echo through the house. Valentine was on the floor, grabbing her chin in his harsh fingers, forcing her to look at him.

"Where did you get the bandages?" He growled and Clary immediately knew the underlying question, one horrid question that had been the bane of her existence for so many years, the cause of so many of her punishments. _Who did you tell?_

Deciding lying would save more of her skin, literally, than the truth would she said, "I did them myself, I swear," Clary pleaded, reaching to cover her chest but Jonathan moved quickly, grabbing her arms and pinning them above her head, where he sat, leaning over her menacingly.

She expected Valentine to lash out at her, ferret out her lie but he only snarled, dragging her up by a bruised arm and hauling her to the family room. Though nothing family oriented ever happened in this room. The sound of bone snapping echoed in her head as she was thrown down on the hard tile. She always expected to see blood stains on this tile, some type of evidence that she'd been destroyed here, taken down and abused here, but there was nothing. The tile was as spotless as a newborn lamb's coat.

She numbly registered her wrist burned and ached, the air leaving her in a gust as Valentine sat on her stomach. She twisted and squirmed, trying to get away from the monster that used to be her father. She didn't understand what had happened to the man Valentine was before Jocelyn died; didn't care to know what dark pit of hell that part of him had been sentenced to in order to make room for this monstrosity.

Jonathan came out of nowhere, wrenching her arms above her head so Valentine could use his belt, still stained with her fresh blood, to bind her hands together making her utterly helpless. Valentine grabbed her chin, none too gently, and wrenched it towards him, making her neck ache. His lips came down hard on hers, forcing them apart, claiming his _property._ Clary hated him for it, hated that this man who'd once been her loving father, swinging her around in his arms, to a man who thought her property, who pinned her down like she was nothing more than paid company. Less than paid company. Like she was _trash _he could throw away whenever it pleased him.

She sobbed as he forced her lips apart, invading her once more. Jonathan held her wrists tight, pinning her body to the ground as she felt the belt close around wrists, restricting her even more. She was dully aware of the crashing of doors, shouting, screaming. Her screaming. More hands touched her and she refused to open her eyes, being pulled and pushed and touched.

But one voice caught her mind, drew her out of her numb shell.

"Clary?" Jace's voice rang in her head and her eyes shot open. Immediately she was acutely aware of every bare spot of skin, every mark that had just been bestowed upon her, old marks as well. She was aware that her top half was bared, naked, and her hands had been released from the belt.

Her hand cracked across Jace's face, a red spot blooming over his cheek where her hand had hit. He looked utterly shocked, touching his cheek tentatively before returning to look at her. He'd betrayed her, and now he was _here _where she'd been beaten and raped. After she'd been saved then damned to hell again. And it was his fault, he did this to her, made her punishment worse.

"Don't _touch me!" _She hissed, dragging herself away from Jace's damning golden eyes even as they set her body on fire, unlike the fires her father and brother made. Confusion flickered in his eyes as she struggled to sit up but she could see, the moment his eyes finished their inspection of her, understanding trickle into those golden disks.

"Clary," his voice was soft, melodious, a rhapsody that seemed to soothe the turmoil in her chest, her body but set off a flame that licked through her veins, wrapping and caressing around her arms, her legs, her core, and squeezing tight. "Sweetheart."

He held out his hands. His smile melted her heart, melted her very bones like they were nothing more than ice that had coalesced over years of harsh winter. Ice that had coated a beautiful rose, wilting it and weighing it down with layers and layers of ice after every new wash of freezing water. And all that the rose needed was a constant, warm ray of sun to slowly melt away the last of that heavy ice.

"You're safe now, really safe now. Valentine and Jonathan are in police custody. They can't hurt you anymore." His voice wrapped around her waist, seeming to drag her closer. He inched just a little closer to her, huddled against the couch, crouching to pin her eyes with his golden stare. "Come here sweetheart, no one's going to hurt you ever again."

His proffered hands looked strong and warm, inviting and comforting. Clary's body ached painfully from her abuse, from her betrayal but a longing bloomed in her chest. A longing to just give up and let someone else take care of her. She shook her head, no, he'd betrayed her. He'd fooled her into believing he'd saved her and taken care of her, but they'd found her again, dragged her back here. Jace was no better than her father and brother.

"No," she cried, her voice hoarse and confused. "No, you betrayed me. You let them find me again. You let me get taken back here." She couldn't stop hugging herself, her left wrist crying out in pain.

Jace let out a pained sigh. "I know, baby, I know. But my father needed to collect evidence to put Valentine and Jonathan away. They'll never hurt you again. Come with me and I'll make sure they never will. Please, sweetheart, you're in pain. Let me help you."

"I can't," she whispered.

"Yes you can. I love you Clary, and you said you love me. Hopefully that's unchanged. Please, let me help," he said and she could see the determination in his eyes, the love and concern as he held his hands out to her. But what squeezed her heart was the truth of his statement.

She could see in his face that he loved her, the panic that she was completely destroyed and would never come back to him hidden in his face. The concern that she was hurt and in pain, needing someone to hold her and care for her. She looked down at his hands, male hands, large and powerful, like Jonathan's and Valentine's that had inflicted so much pain on her. But those tan hands, those wonderful hands had only every caressed her, took care of her, touched her with worshipful fingers. Her decision was made when she saw his smile, his beautiful smile that looked like a ray of sunshine, a peaceful, flower filled meadow that she'd drawn where she could lie quiet and still for hours, alone and undisturbed. But now she didn't want to be alone in that meadow, she wanted to have Jace lie beside her, body pressed against hers and have his mouth brushing her ear, whispering to her of beautiful, mesmerizing things.

She reached out and placed her hand in his outstretched ones, warm, strong fingers closing around her shaking, frozen ones. Instead of pulling her to him like she expected, he brought her knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss that felt like liquid warmth on her hand. "Thank you Clary."

It took her a moment to realize that he was thanking her for trusting him; her trust was a blessed gift she'd given to him that he would cherish and keep for all eternity. Then he wrapped her up in his arms, covering her in a thick blanket. It was only then that she realized that there were other people crowding her home, watching her with bated breath. There were paramedics, police, Jace's family, and her cheeks burned horribly. She clung to Jace, gasping for breath, burying her face in his warm neck as she was swept off the ground.

She heard Jace's mom, the doctor that took care of her. "Jace, honey, we need to take her to the hospital so we can check her out. Now that there's no risk of revealing her to her family, we need to take her there for a full exam."

Clary clutched Jace's neck, her first instinct to avoid choking hospitals and her fear of being discovered. She still didn't believe that her brother and father were put away from her, where they couldn't reach her. She had to struggle to let Jace carry her out of the manor that had been her home for many years, her prison and personal hell for so many more. She was shivering by the time Jace carried her into the ambulance because she wouldn't let anyone else touch her, and she wouldn't have gone into that white and red moving box of condemnation had Jace not been holding her.

In the hospital, Jace urged his mother to get the exam over with quickly. Clary couldn't figure out why he would say that until she realized that her nails were digging into his skin where she held onto his neck, realized that she was shaking with fear and anxiety that had been drilled into her for so many years. She would get punished if she went to the authorities, to a hospital, any outside help. She'd learned to function on her own and if she didn't, she'd pay.

It was all a blur of fear and anxiety as Maryse performed a quick, private exam, reluctantly allowing Robert to bear witness to the injuries to report to police. After that, Maryse bandaged her up, replacing every one with fresh bandages and new salves and balms for the pain. Her left wrist, which had apparently only been sprained, the sound of cracking bones only her adrenaline high mind, was put in a brace before Maryse discharged her and sent her home with Jace, to his residency. Along with a slew of police officers in tow. Robert went to the police station to deal with the paperwork and make sure the evidence wasn't tampered with or stolen by one of Valentine's many outside connections. Maryse had to stay and finish her shifts at the hospital which left Clary alone in the arms of Jace, in his bedroom once more wrapped tightly in his embrace.

"Clary, talk to me sweetheart. Tell me what's going through your head. Stop letting it fester," he whispered softly, mouth brushing over her neck.

Clary turned into the warmth of Jace's body, drowsy and altogether fed up with the land of the conscious but she was too afraid to sleep. Afraid that Jonathan and Valentine would find her, both in her dreams and in reality.

"I wouldn't know what to say Jace," she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as she sank into the blessed shelter of Jace's arms. He felt like a warm fire, holding off a blowing winter storm.

"Tell me about yourself then," he whispered. "I know you like to paint and draw, you're smart, you're strong and brave and beautiful. What else? I want to know every little quirk and idiosyncrasy," he said, nipping her ear, making her giggle tiredly. She turned into his chest, laying her good palm flat on his chest.

"Stop Jace," she murmured but Jace kept licking and teasing, moving down her neck.

"Stop what?" He asked innocently.

"Your teasing, stop," she said, a faint smile crossing her lips.

"I've got your attention, don't I?" His nose grazed her throat before he shifted, laying her on her back. His lips confiscated her, taking her sanity from her with a single touch of his lips. He held himself propped over her, his lips making a slow perusal of hers as he slid one hand into her hair. His thumb drew slow circles over the corner of her jaw, fingers tugging softly in her hair, pushing her lips closer to his.

She blew out a whimper through her nose as she clenched her good hand in his shirt, pulling him on top of her so his body lay a solid comfort on her. Jace still made an effort to keep most of his weight from her. Jace parted her lips with his tongue, planting a claim over her body, her mind, her heart, saying that no one can or will ever touch her again, aside from him.

They fell into some very passionate doings, touching, caressing, kissing, fondling, but Jace never undressed her, or went further than she wanted. They didn't go all the way because of her sprained wrist and newly acquired wounds, but that made Jace all the more indulgent, laying tender kisses and licks and caresses on every inch of skin until Clary was nothing but a puddle beneath his fingers. He'd managed to wipe every single thought but of Jace from her mind and she was eternally grateful for it.

Jace was the one who stopped, even though Clary begged him to continue. He laughed softly, gathering her up in his arms, kissing her forehead. "No sweetheart, you can barely keep your eyes open." He paused. "How am I supposed to enjoy you if you're only going to fall asleep after your first orgasm?"

Clary was too tired to hit him or act upon his offer, but she was able to blush, drawing Jace's lips to the tips of her cheeks as he tucked her and himself under the covers. All she wore was one of Jace's baggy sweatshirts and a pair of his boxers, everything loose and soft. She was already almost asleep, her eyelids heavy and her body aching when Jace's arms slid around her, cradling her to his body.

Jace pressed his soft lips against her cheek before she fell into a deep, comforted sleep.

Clary's morning was horrid in her eyes, she was woken by her white knight with light kisses and warm hands. She wanted to remain in bed but she was dragged to court, dressed in a woman's suit with a long skirt. It took a tremendous amount of kisses and reassurances from Jace to get her even into the car to the courthouse. Even more so to get her into the courthouse itself. Now she stood at the doors to the court room, Jace at her back, the court room milling with people. Jace said this trial was just a preliminary, already having the convicting evidence of the taped abuse.

Clary was led to the prosecutor's table, seated on the far side, away from the defendant's table where her father and brother sat, Valentine acting as his own lawyer. When it came time for her to testify, Jace escorted her up to the stand. The prosecutor asked her gentle questions, tentative and sensitive as she responded in her strongest voice. When it was Valentine's turn to cross examine her she objected, frantic and panicked.

"I refuse to be cross examined by Valentine and subjected to his verbal and mental abuse anymore," Clary practically shouted, her chest contracting and her body aching as she watched both pairs of black eyes watching her, disguising their hatred well but Clary could see it, knowing them for so many years.

"Your Honor—" Valentine began but the judge held up his hand for silence.

The judge spoke. "Ms. Morgenstern is the alleged victim, of your abuse Mr. Morgenstern. Ms. Morgenstern, if she sees it as mentally distressing to her already fragile state," he said, looking over the medical records the prosecutor had given him. "She does not need to be subjected to your cross examination."

Valentine's eyes boiled with rage as they glanced over her face. Her body stiffened as she slid from the stand. She had to leave the court room when the video evidence was presented in court. The video began, the night of her branding. At first it was the empty living room but one could hear screams and shouts from the front entry way. Then Valentine came in, immediately bringing a fire to blazing life in the hearth, stoking it with that wretched iron poker.

Jace had told her the police had confiscated the poker as evidence. Then she was dragged in, kicking and flailing, her robe tied closed as her father commanded Jonathan to lay her down. Clary, in the video, panicked and slammed her head back against her brother's nose. She was thrown to the floor, her robe torn open, shirt pushed up. Jonathan's blond head bent toward her mouth, sealing her lips and muffling her screams with a kiss.

She saw the red hot tip of the poker on the screen, heard her own screams, felt her own brand burn. The tip was getting closer to her skin and she flinched in her seat. Closer, closer, the skin was starting to boil off her bones just as the tip touched her flesh. Clary stood abruptly, turning from the courtroom, her own recorded screams filling the courtroom as she left.

Jace found her minutes later, curled up in the women's bathroom, rocking back and forth. He crouched down beside her, not touching her as she rocked herself, head buried in her knees.

"Clary, sweetheart? The trial's over," Jace spoke in a gentle voice, coaxing a frightened fox out of her den. "Valentine has been convicted, sent to prison for life. And Jonathan has been sent to an asylum for the criminally insane. Sweetheart, they're gone. They won't ever hurt you again."

Ice poured through Clary's burning body, a sweet relief from the pain but making her body utterly numb.

"What?" Was her squeaky response, looking up from her knees, eyes wide and watery like those of those of the red haired fox she embodied, green as summer grass and luminous as emeralds. If Jace wasn't mistaken he could see that spark of life so rarely gleaming in her eyes.

"You're troubles are gone now Clary. You're free, sweetheart," Jace crooned, drawing his fox up from the floor, against the heat of his body. "You're free."

The next few days were tumultuous as the police closed up the case, her house being swept clean and property returned. She'd turned eighteen the day after her father was convicted and, seeing as her brother had been sent away as well, she was sole owner of Valentine's savings and property. The will had never been changed from the before years.

Jace pulled into the circular drive, the manor house before her seeming not tall and imposing as it had before but cold and empty, in desperate need of life. Jace helped her from the car, lacing his fingers through hers. He gave her a gentle, sidelong smile, his thumb making small circles on her knuckles.

"Come on, Clary, let's go brighten up your home," Jace said, gently tugging her toward the house. Clary wondered at Jace's words. This place had been her home six years ago, house and hell for the remainder. Now, she didn't know what to call it; now it was just a big empty mansion at the end of the street, sitting between walls of trees, early morning sunlight washing over its warmly painted siding.

From the outside one could never tell it had been a personal hell, the den of vicious lions, preying on the weaker lioness, continuously beating her down in fear of her rising up and overcoming them. No one would know it was her prison for six years, her castle of pain and torture, fortified by grief and money. By power. No one dared ever look the wrong way in the direction of the D.A. and his children. Now, all three, father, son, daughter, were plastered on every New York headline. _Big Shot D.A. Makes First and Last Mistake. D.A.'s Daughter Saved After Six Years of Abuse; A Story of Public Awareness. All Star Football Quarter Back Arrested, Charged Criminally Insane._

She had no more family in this world, no more family that she wanted to acknowledge, she thought grimly, Jace leading her up the front steps. He smiled a dazzling smile back at her, forcing her to return such a bright, happy curve of the lips. No, she did have family. Jace was her family now, with his caring touch, his loving smile, kind words. Just his love, his belief in her and her abilities set her heart soaring. She grasped Jace's hand tighter as they entered the once cold, lifeless house. Now with Jace by her side, it seemed more vibrant and the possibility of life and happiness seemed to exude from the walls, just as it had when her mother was alive.

Winter had risen with a fury that year, with its clean white snow and cleansing winds. She was a rose, blooming hardy and fierce in the dead of winter, when all life seemed dead and gone, as though there were no hope, she'd bloomed, with help. Winter brought with it new beginnings and pure, unadulterated happiness, in the form of her Jace.

Her white winter knight, she the winter rose.


	8. OH MY GOSH!

Thank you all so much for reading this fanfiction! I've just been nominated in three categories for Winter Rose. Best Mortal Instrument Fanfic, Best Angst Fanfic and Best Romance Fanfic. Thank you guys so much. Voting is tomorrow, May 31, 2015 and closes June 22nd. I can't thank you guys enough! I love all my readers!


	9. Voting For Those Who Asked

Voting can be done at fanatic fanfics award. Their website is pretty amazing. Plus seing my pen name and story up there is pretty awe inspiring for me I still can't believe . That's their website.

fantics fanfics awards . blogspot . com

Without the spaces guys. This website doesn't let you put any Web addresses on here. Its ridiculous.


	10. Reassurance

**Just to reassure everyone I will not be deleting any if my other fics. They will remain purely fic on here for the sole enjoyment of all my readers. **


End file.
